Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,90
before her, tears glistening in her eyes as well. “ ’Tis naught but a house now, dear Cousin. An empty shell. Do not punish yourself.”
Marjory quietly blew her nose, then whispered, “How can I not?”
After a long silence Mr. Laidlaw stepped forward. “Mem, I found some things ye may wish to have. I set them aside, thinking to bring them to ye. Would ye like them noo?”
“Aye.” She swallowed. “If you please.”
Gibson led her to a small table and chairs where the gentry of Selkirkshire once spent many happy hours playing whist. No sooner had she settled in place than Mr. Laidlaw reappeared with a wooden box.
When she looked inside, Marjory stifled a moan. Donald’s books. Andrew’s toys.
Gibson took away the box at once. “Suppose I put it in the carriage.”
Marjory could not look at the admiral. Whatever must he think of her? “Lord Buchanan, I am … so very sorry …”
He knelt beside her. “Mrs. Kerr, you were brave to come. But unless you truly wish to see the house, I think it best that we leave at once. It will not do to have Lord Mark find you here.”
“Nae,” she agreed. “The general may be a distant cousin of my late husband’s, but he is no friend of mine.”
“Nor of mine,” Elisabeth said firmly.
The moment Marjory stood, Mr. Laidlaw presented himself. “Mem, I wonder if I might have a wird with ye. In private, if ye’ll not mind.”
Anne started to protest, but Marjory saw something in the factor’s eyes that could not be ignored. “We must do so quickly,” she told him, following him into the vacant entrance hall, leaving the others behind.
The two paused before a gilt-edged looking glass. At first Roger Laidlaw said nothing, only looked at his shoes.
“What is it you wish to tell me?” Marjory asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“I’ll not keep ye lang,” he said, his voice low. “But I must ask yer forgiveness.”
Marjory stared at him. “My forgiveness?” It was the last thing she expected.
He was quiet for a long time. When he looked up, the pain in his eyes was undeniable. “In the past I had a reputation for chasing the lasses. Most were willing, but—”
“My cousin was right, then,” Marjory said sharply. “You are a reprobate.”
He hung his head. “Whatsomever she said, ’tis true.”
Marjory eyed the drawing room door, considering summoning the admiral. He would know what was to be done. Should the sheriff be called? Or might the kirk session mete out sufficient punishment?
But Mr. Laidlaw’s humble demeanor gave her pause. This was not a man bragging about his conquests. “You said ‘in the past,’ Mr. Laidlaw. Are you telling me you’ve changed?”
He looked up at once. “I have changed. Ye must believe me, Leddy …, eh, Mrs. Kerr.”
Marjory wanted to be angry with him, wanted to see justice done. But when a man asked for mercy, he deserved to be heard. “Go on.”
“I’m courting a widow in Galashiels noo. Jessie Briggs is her name. She made me see … what sort o’ man I was. And what I could be.”
Marjory frowned. “Does this Jessie know all that you’ve done?”
“Aye, ilka bit. I’ve gone round the countryside and tried to make amends—”
“Tibbie Cranshaw?” Marjory pressed him.
He shook his head. “She wouldna let me past her door. I canna say I blame the lass.”
Nor can I. “I should never have sent Tibbie away,” Marjory admitted, “nor judged her so harshly.”
“Then … mebbe ye can forgive me?” Roger Laidlaw shifted his weight. “ ’Twas a sickness, mem. Finally I am weel.” He pulled out a tattered handkerchief and blew his nose. “I canna believe it, but a guid woman luves me. Aye, and the guid Lord luves me, though I dinna deserve it.”
Marjory’s ire was gone, dissipating like smoke from a doused fire. “No one truly deserves his love and mercy. I certainly don’t.”
He sought her gaze in the quiet entrance hall. “Please, mem. I canna say I’m sorry enough.”
“Mr. Laidlaw, you don’t need—”
“But I do.” He pulled off his cap and bunched it in his hands. “Nae man wha behaved as I did should walk round thinking it doesna matter.”
Something about his confession prodded at a tender place she could not name. Roger Laidlaw spoke the truth: his lust for women was a sickness the Lord alone could heal. “If the Lord has forgiven you, Mr. Laidlaw, I must do the same.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I thank ye, mem.”