Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [131]
Michael’s needle had been busy as well. Last evening Anne had burst through the door, her expression jubilant. “Oh, Cousins! Wait until you see Michael’s handsome blue coat,” she’d crowed, practically skipping through the house. “And he’s sewn Peter a waistcoat to match.” Anne had dropped into a chair with a happy sigh. “Come the Sabbath, the two lads I love will welcome me into their home.”
And the one man I love will not.
Marjory pushed away the selfish thought, reminding herself that Anne had waited a long time to marry. Could she not wait as well until God provided or Neil Gibson relented?
Better is a dinner of herbs where love is.
Marjory held the proverb close to her heart, intending to share it with Neil when the time was right. They could wait, aye, but not forever.
She glanced toward the partition, hearing noises from the box bed. A moment later her cousin appeared, squinting round the room. “Where’s Bess?”
“She left before dawn.” Marjory told her. “Said she had a maid’s gown to finish in time for the admiral’s monthly supper on the morrow.”
“I suppose Lord Buchanan has already arranged for servants,” Anne said wistfully. “I don’t know when I’ve had a better time than his first supper in June.”
Marjory agreed. “A memorable occasion. Just like your wedding will be.”
Anne studied Marjory more closely. “Is that what’s been troubling you of late? My marriage to Michael?”
“Nae,” Marjory assured her, sidestepping any mention of Gibson. “ ’Tis Rob MacPherson,” she confessed. “He’s dangerous, that one.”
“Dangerous?” Anne’s snort was ladylike but still a snort. “Have you forgotten that Lord Buchanan is in residence? A gentleman who commanded hundreds of sailors can surely manage one Highlander.”
“Oh, Mr. MacPherson would never hurt Bess,” Marjory was quick to say. “Quite the contrary. He was besotted with her in Edinburgh.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Is that why he came to Selkirk?”
“I fear so, though Bess has not said as much.” As Marjory ladled steaming porridge into their bowls, an idea sprang to mind. “Suppose we pay a visit to Bell Hill this forenoon and see what we can learn? If the walk does not ease my headache, ’twill at least ease my heart.”
A light breeze wafted over the Selkirk Hills as the two women headed east on foot, the late August sun warm on their shoulders. Though Marjory was breathless by the time they reached the summit of Bell Hill, the view was worth the effort. Even after several days without rain, the grass shone emerald green. Bright red berries covered the pair of rowan trees at the entrance gate, and blooming heather turned the distant hillsides a dusky purple.
Greeted at the door by a fair-haired young footman, Marjory and Anne were soon ushered into Elisabeth’s small workroom below stairs.
“Why, look who’s come to Bell Hill!” Elisabeth said, making them welcome. “Mr. MacPherson, you remember my mother-in-law.”
“Verra weel,” the tailor said with a low bow. “ ’Tis guid to see ye again, Mrs. Kerr.”
“And you.” Marjory reminded herself of the many kindnesses Rob MacPherson had done for their family in Edinburgh, even as she tried to forget his last visit to Milne Square, when he’d accused Donald of being unfaithful to Elisabeth. Your son demeaned her well enough. Even though his charge was true, Rob had no right to speak ill of her dead son.
Marjory gazed at her daughter-in-law, recalling how she’d shown Rob the door that evening in no uncertain terms. Please, Bess. Do the same now. For all our sakes.
“Mr. MacPherson has finished sewing his first livery,” Elisabeth was saying, “and brought Roberts along to show me his finished handiwork.”
The butler stood before the hearth, tall and proud in his well-fitted black coat and trousers, with a crisp white linen shirt and neckcloth.
“A fine suit of clothing,” Marjory begrudgingly agreed.
“I’ve meikle mair to do at Bell Hill,