Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,89
you request it, milord.”
“Whatever you wish, madam. Haste is best, for I would not care to cross paths with Lord Mark, for your sake.”
A sharp intake of air. “Indeed not. Annie, please bring the tea.”
The jostling of the carriage and the queasiness in Marjory’s stomach made for an uncomfortable hour. But she was seated between Elisabeth and Gibson, the two people whom she cared about most and who cared about her, so she did not complain.
The northbound route from Selkirk, which ran parallel with the Ettrick Water, was a hilly road that hugged the waterside, then veered sharply upward before reaching the River Tweed and the property that stretched along its banks. Tweedsford. Soon they would pass through the wrought-iron gates, always left open as a sign of hospitality. Or would they be locked this morning?
“Tell me what you can of Roger Laidlaw,” Lord Buchanan was saying. “He will not object to our seeing the property?”
Looking at Anne, Marjory lifted her eyebrows, an unspoken question. Will Mr. Laidlaw mind? Will you?
Anne faintly shook her head. “ ’Tis hard to say what sort of reception we might find.”
Lord Buchanan stared into the rain-drenched countryside “We shall know shortly.”
When, a moment later, they rattled through the gates and across the gravel to the entrance, Marjory confessed, “I do wish you could have seen Tweedsford on a better day, milord.”
He climbed out of the carriage, then turned to offer his hand. “A sailor never objects to water, madam.”
The Kerr party stood in a small, wet knot while Gibson lifted the brass knocker and banged it upon the imposing front door.
After several agonizing minutes, a young footman answered, his livery neat, his face unfamiliar. When Gibson announced Marjory and the others by name, the lad fell back a step. “Leddy Kerr?”
“Aye.” She slowly crossed the threshold, then forced herself to say the words. “This was once my home.”
He bowed rather clumsily. “I … I ken wha ye are, mem.”
Marjory tried to take it all in with one sweeping glance. The polished wood floors shone, even on this gloomy morning. The icy blue silk she’d chosen as a young bride still covered the walls. The grand staircase, rising two floors, dominated the entrance hall, as it always had.
Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
She cleared her throat. “If I might speak with Mr. Laidlaw.”
“Aye … aye.” The footman turned and practically ran toward the rear of the house.
Marjory found it hard to breathe, so familiar was the scent of the place. Not merely wood and plaster and silk and satin but also the muddy riverbed and the drooping roses in the garden and the rain itself—all crept through the house, creating a sweet, earthy fragrance she could not fully describe yet could never forget. Home.
With a soft moan she bowed her head, memories pressing down on her, flattening her.
Elisabeth lightly touched her shoulder. “I am here, Marjory. We all are.”
Marjory lifted her head. “I am sorry we’ve arrived … unannounced … we …”
When her voice faltered, Elisabeth stepped in to explain. “We learned just this morn that General Lord Mark Kerr is to be the new owner of Tweedsford.”
“Aye, mem.” Mr. Laidlaw bobbed his brown head, his close-set eyes blinking rapidly. “I’ve been told to leuk for him at noontide.”
Soon. A chill ran down Marjory’s spine.
“Then we shall make our visit brief,” Lord Buchanan told the factor. “You surely understand Mrs. Kerr’s desire to see her home once more.”
Roger Laidlaw studied her at length before he responded. “Some o’ the sma’ furniture was taken awa to Edinburgh and sold at auction … to … to pay the fines, ye ken. But, aye, ye can take a leuk.”
Apprehensive, Marjory ventured forth, stepping into the high-ceilinged drawing room with its tall windows and thick velvet drapes. Her heart grew heavier with each step. If they’d never left Selkirk for Edinburgh, this would still be her home. Her sons would be alive. She might have grandchildren by now, running through the halls of Tweedsford.
Marjory stood in the center of the room, barely seeing the marble chimneypiece, the painted ceiling, the decorative cornices. She saw only what was missing. Not her furnishings. Her family.
She closed her eyes and began to weep. Forgive me, forgive me.
Elisabeth’s hand clasped hers.
Gibson moved closer as well and produced a clean linen handkerchief.
“ ’Tis my fault.” Marjory dabbed her eyes, but the tears would not stop. “We should never have come.”