Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,83
day. His son, the late Lord Donald, inherited his father’s fortune, title, and lands. Make no mistake, the Kerrs are gentlewomen.”
Jack dropped into the nearest seat, the wind knocked out of him. “The young Widow Kerr told me none of this.”
“I cannot blame her for hiding her husband’s foolishness, for he did not inherit his father’s common sense. Lord Donald Kerr threw his life away on the Jacobite cause, sentencing his mother and wife to a life of poverty.”
Jack grasped the situation at last. “When her husband died at Falkirk, he fought for Prince Charlie, not King George.”
The minister’s expression softened. “Now you see the way of it. General Lord Mark Kerr himself penned the letter that sealed the family’s fate. Attainted for treason, they lost everything.”
Treason. Jack shuddered at the very sound of the word. He’d known more than one navy man who’d paid for his disloyalty to the king with his life. “And the Kerr women … they supported Prince Charlie as well?”
Reverend Brown’s gray head slowly bobbed up and down. “To their shame, they did. But above all, they supported the men they loved, for which I cannot blame them. Now you’ll find them honoring the king, if only because ’tis prudent. Of their faith in the Almighty, however, there can be no doubt. In that realm we are all peers.”
Jack stood again, needing to pace. “Why have I not learned of this treason before now?”
“No one wanted to tell you, milord, lest it cost Elisabeth Kerr her position. She could have returned home to the Highlands but instead chose to stay with her mother-in-law and care for her. ’Tis a sacrifice not all would make, milord.”
Jack fixed his gaze on a stack of books on the library table, struggling to collect his thoughts. “I must ask you again, Reverend, what would you have me do?”
The minister’s answer was swift. “Find ways to provide for their household that won’t cause them shame or require some gift in return.”
He groaned. “Like today’s feast, you mean.”
“Just so.”
Jack nodded, an idea forming in his mind and heart. “Silver is a cold offering, easily measured. But I have other ways of supplying their needs.” He consulted his pocket watch again, then started toward the door. “I must away, sir. Your admonition has not gone unheard.”
“I can see that.” Reverend Brown, who seldom smiled, made a valiant effort. “Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother,” he reminded Jack, “to thy poor, and to thy needy, in thy land.”
“Aye, sir.” Jack tipped his hat and was gone, bound for the edge of town where a stable lad and a well-fed thoroughbred waited for their master.
Less than an hour later he was striding through the corridors of Bell Hill in search of Roberts and Mrs. Pringle. His house was emptier than usual, the servants having been given the day off for the Riding. That also meant fewer ears listening in the halls—a blessing, considering what he had planned.
When the two appeared at his study door, Jack beckoned them within.
“What is troubling you, milord?” Roberts inquired. “For I can see you are anxious.”
“Eager would be closer to the mark.” Jack was standing in front of his desk, rather than sitting behind it. All the better to engage their cooperation. And their silence.
The two waited, hands behind their backs, attentive as ever.
“First,” Jack said somewhat sternly, “one or both of you owe me an explanation. Did you know that Mrs. Elisabeth Kerr was once married to a Jacobite who fell at Falkirk and was later charged with treason?”
Roberts was clearly shocked. “Indeed not, milord!”
Mrs. Pringle pursed her lips. “I confess, Lord Buchanan, I was well aware of it. Mrs. Kerr told me within a half hour of her arrival here.”
“And still you made her welcome in my household.” Jack kept his voice even. “You gave her food. Allowed me to clothe her. Made certain I engaged her.”
Mrs. Pringle replied without apology, “I did, milord.”
He nodded, barely hiding his pleasure. “Well done.”
“Sir?” Roberts exclaimed.
Jack clapped a hand on his butler’s shoulder. “We are charged to care for the widows in our parish, and that is what Mrs. Pringle wisely arranged. But there is more to be done. Promise me, both of you, that my intentions shall never be discussed outside this room.”
When not only their spoken assurances but also their honest gazes convinced him of their fealty, Jack rubbed his hands together like a shipwright preparing to grip his ax. “Now, then. Here is what