Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,81

hand on Peter’s head. “Indeed he has, milord.”

“Come, sir!” Peter cried, tugging on Jack’s coat.

“Our house is modest, but our welcome is sure.” Elisabeth led him down the shadowy close with the others trailing behind, their lively voices echoing against the dank stone walls.

Jack took careful note of his surroundings, troubled by the thought of Elisabeth facing this grim view every day of her life. Only when they reached the door did he remember Janvier. “I’ve left my horse with one of the stable lads from Bell Hill. He’ll be wondering where I’ve gone.”

Mr. Dalgliesh chuckled. “Is he a Selkirk lad?” When Jack assured him that he was, the tailor said, “Then ye’ve nae need to worry, for he’ll be sitting with the ither lads in a shady spot, watching yer mount and drinking punch for hours. He kens ye’ll find him whan ye’re done.”

Elisabeth studied Jack more intently. “Would you prefer we sent someone to tell him of your whereabouts?”

“Nae,” Jack said, trusting the tailor’s assessment. “After our brief exchange in the marketplace, Mrs. Kerr, a hundred folk could tell him where I’ve gone.” He stood back. “Now, if someone might unlock the door.”

Soft laughter rippled through the group.

“ ’Tis an outside door and has no lock,” Elisabeth explained, pushing it open. A musty smell wafted out. “This isn’t London, milord. We’ve no need for lock and key here.”

A moment later he understood why. There was nothing to steal.

Jack had visited many lodging houses in his time. Never had he seen one so small or so sparsely furnished. He counted only one bed and two fabric-covered chairs, badly worn. And the oval table would hardly seat four, let alone eight. Yet here they were, these amiable companions, making themselves at home in a dwelling not much larger than Elisabeth’s workroom.

“Will you sit here by the window?” Elisabeth asked him, patting the high back of an upholstered chair. “Dinner will not be long. We lack only plates, linens, and cutlery, and those will be arriving shortly.”

Busy at the hearth, Mrs. Kerr was wearing her new black dress. Elisabeth, alas, was still dressed in her dreary old gown. Had she not begun sewing a new one? Or had Hyslop not purchased sufficient fabric? Jack dared not ask Elisabeth and risk embarrassing her. Nor could he praise the elder Mrs. Kerr’s mourning gown without drawing attention to her loss. Sometimes proper manners were a decided nuisance when one needed the truth on a matter.

Reverend Brown and his manservant, Gibson, came knocking a moment later, arms laden with pewter plates, linen napkins, and sterling forks and spoons. “Here we are, ladies,” the minister said, depositing his offering on the table. “My late wife would be glad to know these things were put to good use.”

With Gibson’s help Anne quickly laid the table for four, then stacked the rest of the settings by the hearth. Jack could not imagine how dinner would be served. Would they take turnabout at table? Stand to eat? Dine two to a plate?

His conscience quickly nudged him. They have given you the best chair and will feed you shortly. Be grateful. Be humble. Be silent.

Thoroughly chastised, Jack sat quietly in his chair and surveyed the dinner preparations. Though Elisabeth stood at the ready, her mother-in-law evidently had things well in hand. The air was filled with tantalizing aromas. Jack thought of his mother, who’d kept two cooks yet still insisted on doing all her own baking.

While Anne entertained Peter with a chapbook, Reverend Brown settled into the seat next to him and struck up a conversation. “For a man who’s circled the globe, riding the marches of our North Common must have seemed a dull journey.”

“Not at all, Reverend.” Jack related in detail his experiences that morning, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the sagging beams, the bare floor, and the shabby trunks by the box bed.

A half hour later Elisabeth escorted him to table. “If you might take the chair at the head, milord.” She also seated Reverend Brown, Mr. Dalgliesh, and her mother-in-law.

Mrs. Kerr eyed her dishes with concern. “I do hope everything is seasoned to your liking, milord.”

However small the table, Jack could not deny that the food looked promising. “Rest assured, madam, I will eat every bite.”

The question of where the others would sit was soon answered. Anne and Elisabeth took the upholstered chairs, neatly balancing plates in their hands, while Gibson and Peter served as footmen, bringing each course to table. “We ate earlier,” Peter