Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [129]
When he stood, her heart began to pound. It cannot be. Nae, it cannot.
He turned as Lord Jack announced, “Mrs. Kerr, I’d like you to meet—
“Rob MacPherson.” Elisabeth stared at the man she’d known since childhood. “I thought you …” I thought you were dead. Grasping for something, anything she might say, she blurted out, “However did you find your way to Bell Hill?”
His dark gaze met hers. “Yer mither sent me here. To leuk for wark.” Or to look for me?
She swallowed. “It is … good to see you again.”
“Ye’ve not changed at a’,” he told her, his voice lower than she’d remembered.
She turned toward the admiral, knowing he deserved an explanation. “Mr. MacPherson and I grew up together. His father was the tailor who employed me in Edinburgh.” She hesitated, wondering how much Rob had told him. “I’ve not seen Mr. MacPherson since before his father’s death. You can imagine how … surprised I am to see him again. Here, of all places.”
“Indeed,” Lord Jack said evenly, “of all places. I imagine you two will wish to renew your friendship in the weeks to come.”
“Aye.” Rob gave her a sidelong glance, his black eyes gleaming. “That we will.”
Nae, Rob. We will not.
The tension in the room was more than Elisabeth could bear.
“I must attend to my sewing,” she said, easing toward the open door. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” She curtsied, then fled for the stair, sorry to have left Lord Jack with a scowl on his face. By the time she reached her workroom, she was wound as tightly as thread round a spool. Why are you here, Rob? What is it you want from me?
Sally was waiting for her, eyes like saucers. “Did ye meet the new tailor?”
“As it happens, I know him.” Elisabeth briefly told her of their connection, imagining how often her words would be repeated once news of Mr. MacPherson’s arrival traveled through the house and then through the town.
Rob would seek her out before long. Until then, she would keep her mind on her work and remember her parting words to him in Edinburgh. I was never yours. I belong to God.
When a male visitor darkened her doorway that afternoon, he was not a tailor but an admiral. “Mrs. Kerr, if I might have a moment of your time.”
She heard the coolness in his tone, the formality of his address, and vowed to put him at ease. “Lord Jack,” she said warmly, laying Kate’s unfinished sleeve across her lap. “I’m glad you’ve come.” She nodded at the empty chair beside her, with its cushioned seat and broad arms. “These chairs are far more comfortable than their predecessors. A wonderful provision, milord.”
Though he merely inclined his head, she could see her words pleased him.
He sat next to her and said in an offhanded way, “Tell me about Mr. MacPherson.”
Elisabeth studied his calm expression, the subtle arch of his brows, the thin line of his mouth. However relaxed he might seem, she knew better. Like Charbon, who often appeared to be sleeping yet was fully alert, Lord Jack was watching her intently.
“He is an excellent tailor,” she began. “His father, God rest his soul, declared there was not a finer hand with a needle in Edinburgh.”
The admiral grimaced. “I’ve no quarrel with his talent. ’Tis his motive for coming to Bell Hill that concerns me.”
“Ah.” She trod with care, wanting to be fair to both men. “He certainly needs the position and will work diligently for your guineas. How long have you engaged him?”
“ ’Til Michaelmas.” He did not sound pleased at the prospect. “The man is a Jacobite, I presume?”
“He is,” Elisabeth said, “though I know you’ll not betray him to the king.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because, milord, you did not betray me.”
He lowered his gaze. “I would never betray you, Bess. But I would know the nature of your relationship with Mr. MacPherson.”
“We are friends. Nothing more.”
He looked up. “In the same way you and I are friends?”
“Nae, ’tis not the