Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,80
nothing, recalling another invitation. Might you join us for dinner? He’d made no promises to Elisabeth Kerr, and they’d not spoken of it all week. No one would fault him for preferring a fine meal at a wealthy man’s table.
When thou makest a feast, call the poor. Not merely his conscience, but the Lord’s own words prodded him.
Jack finally said, “I may have … other plans, Sir John.”
The sheriff frowned. “Lady Murray will be sorely vexed if I do not bring you home with me.”
“I’ll know by the time we reach the marketplace,” Jack told him, stalling for time as he started back downhill, following the others. With the sun well overhead, Jack wished for a lighter coat. And no hat. And no periwig. But the other men had also dressed for the occasion, so at least he had company.
At Dunsdale, not far north of town, the Common Riding party was met by young men on horseback eager to race their steeds, with a goodly number of spectators prepared to do their part. Jack let his horse graze in the rich pasture while he watched men half his age race for nothing more than a kiss from a blushing lass. Why had he not married when he was a young lieutenant, when life was less complicated and a lady’s hand easily won?
An hour later, when they’d had their fill of racing, both walkers and riders headed for the mercat cross for the Casting of Colors. “ ’Tis the highlight of the event,” Sir John assured him as the townsfolk greeted the riding party at the East Port.
Stable lads at the edge of the crowd took the horses so the riders could move to the very center of things, where a broad wooden platform had been erected. A hush fell over the gathering as, one by one, craft guild members stepped onto the stage with their enormous flags, then swept them round at waist level, forming a figure eight.
Sir John said in a low voice, “The tradition goes back two centuries. Selkirk sent eighty well-armed men to the battle of Flodden Field. A lone survivor returned, bearing a captured English banner. He was so overcome with grief he could only swing the flag round like a scythe.” Sir John nodded toward the platform as a weaver performed the same motion. “ ’Twas his way of showing the townsfolk that all their lads had been cut down.”
Sobered by the story, Jack listened as a song of remembrance rose from the crowd while tears were wiped away and heads were bowed. In that quiet moment he glanced toward Halliwell’s Close and saw Elisabeth standing beside her cousin and the red-headed tailor.
Jack waited until the last note rang out, then bade Sir John a hasty farewell. “My apologies to Lady Murray, but I must honor a previous engagement,” he said, certain he was committing some grave social faux pas.
The townsfolk parted at his approach, ending any pretense of a chance encounter. Elisabeth would see him coming from twenty ells away. By the time he reached her, a small clearing had encircled them. Their eyes met briefly before he bowed and Elisabeth curtsied, then he moved forward, nodding at the crowd, hoping they might go about their business and let him converse with her in private.
A foolish expectation. Every eye and every ear was fixed on the drama at hand.
The admiral from the sea. The dressmaker from the town.
Had someone sold tickets, he’d have made a handsome profit.
“Safe oot and safe in,” she offered him in greeting. “ ’Tis what the cottagers cried when they sent out the riders.”
Jack lifted his brows. “So that’s what they were saying.”
“Now the feasting begins,” her cousin told him. “Each guild has its own fete. The town council also serves food and drink for all, with music and dancing ’til the wee hours of the morn.” Her pale blue eyes looked up at him. “But you’ll be joining us for dinner, aye, milord?”
Thirty-Nine
Penniless amid great plenty.
HORACE
ye.” Jack smiled at Elisabeth, certain he’d made the right choice.
“A plate of food with the Kerrs would suit me very well.”
“Reverend Brown has agreed to join us,” Elisabeth said, “along with Mr. Dalgliesh and his son. You remember young Peter.”
Jack looked down at the lad, who did not hide behind his father, as most boys would, but stood proudly in front of him. Imagine having such a son! “The Almighty has been most kind to you, Mr. Dalgliesh.”