Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [128]
“A month o’ wark will suit me verra weel,” the younger man said. “I was already bound for London toun and thocht I might earn a bit o’ silver on my way.”
Still shaking his head, Jack began examining the offered garments. He saw at once the man was quite skilled with a needle and told him so.
“I learned a’ I ken from my faither,” he said proudly. “O’ course, he’s gane noo, and so is my mither.”
Jack studied the card from the shop on Edinburgh’s High Street. It appeared to be a worthy establishment. “You could lodge here at Bell Hill,” Jack said, thinking aloud, “then be on your way to London by Michaelmas.”
“Aye, so I could, milord.”
Jack would be pleased to have his footmen newly attired in time for the household supper at next month’s end. And Elisabeth’s mother surely trusted this young man, or she’d never have recommended him.
“Sir, your timing is … providential,” Jack told him. The truth was, he felt sorry for the younger man with no steady work and both parents gone. Elisabeth might appreciate having another Highlander in the house, and a friend of her mother’s at that.
“I can pay you a guinea for each suit of clothing,” Jack told him. “If we’re agreed, you may start on the morrow. We’ve a vacant workroom on the men’s side of the servant hall that should suit.”
That grim smile again. “Aye, ’twill do.”
Jack consulted the card once more. “Your name is MacPherson.”
“ ’Tis, milord.” He eyed the steaming cup of tea Mrs. Pringle had just poured for him. “Robert is my proper Christian name, though my freens a’ call me Rob.”
“I hope you’ll soon be among friends here as well.” Jack shook the man’s hand, taken aback at the strength of his grip. “Rob MacPherson, welcome to Bell Hill.”
Fifty-Five
It is easy to say how we love new friends …
but words can never trace out all
the fibers that knit us to the old.
GEORGE ELIOT
lisabeth flew across the stable yard, her gaze fixed on the servants’ entrance. Had the clock in the drawing room already struck eight? She’d slept later than she’d intended, then spilled tea on her white linen chemise. After soaking the fabric in hot water, she’d scrubbed the stain with lemon and salt. “I’ll dry it in the sun for you,” Anne had promised, sending Elisabeth on her way. A poor use for an expensive lemon, but it could not be helped.
She slipped into her workroom at Bell Hill unnoticed, then paused by the window, letting her heart ease its pace. Kate was due for her fitting later that morning. But Elisabeth had yet to finish chalking the fabric, let alone cutting and pinning it. If she started at once, she might be ready for the lass by eleven o’ the clock, provided she had no interruptions.
“Mrs. Kerr?”
When she turned to find Mrs. Pringle walking through the door, pocket watch in hand, Elisabeth apologized at once. “Do forgive my late arrival.”
The housekeeper smiled. “I’ve come not to scold you but to summon you. His lordship has hired a tailor to sew for the menservants and thought you’d want to meet him.”
“But …” Elisabeth tried to fathom how Lord Jack had found a man so quickly. “His lordship made no mention of him at kirk yesterday morn.”
Mrs. Pringle stepped farther into the room, glancing over her shoulder. “According to Roberts, the tradesman arrived yesterday afternoon, drenched from head to toe, and was hired within the hour. Come, his lordship is waiting.”
She added in a low voice, “The man is a Highlander, as you’ll soon see.”
Elisabeth followed her down the servants’ hall, feeling rather dazed. A tailor from the Highlands when skilled tradesmen could be found in Selkirk? She hastened up the stair to Lord Jack’s study, then paused at the door, waiting for the footman to announce her.
Standing behind his desk, the admiral waved her into the room. “There you are, Mrs. Kerr. Do come in, for I’ve an introduction to make.”
She slowly entered, gazing not at her employer but at the man seated in a wooden chair with his back facing the door. Even