Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,82

announced, the flour on his nose suggesting he’d enjoyed a roll or two.

To Jack’s amazement Mrs. Kerr had prepared not only the obligatory courses offish, flesh, and fowl but vegetables dishes as well. Potted eel was followed by savory veal pie, then stewed chicken with mace. Warm rolls, fragrant with ale yeast, were served next, then pickled beetroot and asparagus with butter. Strawberries and soft cheese arrived as the final course.

Jack would never inform Mrs. Tudhope, but he’d met her equal.

Conversation ensued when their forks were put aside. Michael Dalgliesh, Jack decided, was a clever raconteur posing as a tailor, who regaled the family and guests with amusing stories. The elder Widow Kerr spoke little but, by her speech and manners, was clearly a gentlewoman. He would see what he could learn of her history and Elisabeth’s as well.

When it was his turn, Jack shared his adventures aboard the Centurion, including visiting exotic ports of call in Brazil, Argentina, China, and the Philippines. Elisabeth and Anne quietly cleared the table, then drew their chairs closer. Wide-eyed Peter sat at his feet until his father invited the boy onto his lap, all the better to listen.

Jack was seldom jealous of any man, but for a moment the sharp pain of envy cut like a knife. However enthralling his years at sea, they had cost him a son like Peter.

When the dinner party finally stood, well sated with food and words, the kirk bell tolled the hour. “It cannot be six o’ the clock.” Jack consulted his pocket watch, shocked to learn how swiftly the afternoon had passed. “I must find my stable lad before he sells Janvier and sails for the Continent.”

“Walk me to the manse first,” Reverend Brown said. “I’ve asked Gibson to tarry here and be of service.”

“Well done, sir.” Jack looked round the house, still as mean a hovel as ever. But the women certainly ate well. Perhaps they preferred to spend money on food rather than furnishings.

Jack found his hat, expressed his sincere thanks, then took his leave and followed the minister down the stair and into the marketplace, where revelers were dancing in rounds, their feet lifting high above the cobblestones. He escorted the minister home without attempting any conversation over the spirited fiddlers.

A few minutes later the two men stood in the minister’s parlor, the sounds of merrymaking held at bay by his solid entrance door.

“Lord Buchanan,” the minister began, “how oft do you imagine the Kerr ladies enjoy such a fine table?”

The question caught Jack off guard. “I … cannot say, sir.”

“I can,” he said gruffly. “On the morrow they’ll break their fast eating porridge from wooden bowls. Dinner will be a single course from a single pot and supper no more than cheese and bread and whatever they can afford to pluck from Mrs. Thorburn’s garden.”

Jack felt the rich meal inside him begin to churn. “Then however did they afford …”

“The young Widow Kerr invested a fortnight’s wages in that meal. Anne, who earns a pittance teaching lace making, scrubbed her wee house from fore to aft. And the elder Mrs. Kerr spent all week planning and preparing each course.”

Jack stared at him, appalled. “For one meal?”

“Nae,” the reverend said sharply. “For one man.”

“Surely …” Jack tried again. “Surely this was not all for my sake?”

The minister scowled. “According to Gibson, who heard this from Marjory Kerr, who knows her daughter-in-law better than anyone, Elisabeth Kerr meant to express her gratitude for all you’ve done for her.”

“I see.” Jack’s mind was racing. Had he missed something? Had she told him that?

“Yet there you sat, dining like a prince, then offering them nothing in return beyond what a dressmaker is paid for her efforts.”

Stung by his accusation, Jack protested, “But I provided fabric for new gowns—”

“Aye,” Reverend Brown growled, “so Elisabeth Kerr wouldn’t sully the appearance of your household. Meanwhile, she walks four miles a day, labors from dawn until dusk, and has no assurance of any position beyond Saint Andrew’s Day.”

Jack had not been spoken to so harshly since he was a green midshipman. He did not enjoy it then. He enjoyed it less now. But he heard something behind the minister’s tongue-lashing: the truth. “What would you have me do, sir?”

Reverend Brown responded without hesitation, “Treat the Kerr widows as peers.”

Jack stared at him, confused. “But, sir, they are … poor.”

“Now, aye, but ’twas not always thus. Lord John Kerr of Tweedsford was a wealthy and respected resident of Selkirk in his