Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [18]
Elisabeth gaped at her. “Annie, however do you manage?”
Her thin-lipped smile did not reach her eyes. “I teach lace making to the daughters of local gentry who can spare a shilling a week.” She stood and began clearing the dining table. “On Tuesday you’ll meet my two pupils, Miss Caldwell and Miss Boyd. Neither of them enjoys needlework, but they’ve kindly not complained to their mothers. At least not yet.”
Elisabeth joined her, collecting the wooden utensils that, by Sabbath law, could not be washed until morning. Two shillings a week? Even in rural Selkirk those coins would be quickly spent. “And yet you served us mutton this noontide.”
Anne turned to meet her gaze. “ ’Tis the one day of the week I have meat.”
Elisabeth glanced in the direction of the hurlie bed, then asked in a low voice, “Might your titled cousins not have provided at least a small income for you?”
Anne was slow to answer. “I was not a close relative of Lord John’s, nor did I travel in the same social circles.” She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “When no one asked for my hand in marriage, Lord John took pity on me and quietly arranged a monthly stipend. Lady Marjory was unaware of his generosity. As she was of many things.”
Elisabeth merely nodded. Three years of living with her mother-in-law had taught her much about the gentry and their willingness to look the other way when it suited them.
Her cousin went on. “The coins were delivered to my door each month by … well, by Lord John’s factor, by …”
“Mr. Laidlaw?”
“Aye.” Color bloomed in Anne’s pale cheeks. “When Lord John died, Mr. Laidlaw came to see me.” She averted her gaze, her discomfort all too apparent. “He said he would continue bringing silver to my door each month if I opened my … if I welcomed his … touch.”
A dreadful silence hung in the air.
Elisabeth reached for her hand. “Annie, I’m so sorry. Had Marjory known—”
“But she should have known.” Her cousin drew away from her, a spark of anger in her pale blue eyes. “Mr. Laidlaw made a habit of tormenting her maidservants. He put his hands where they did not belong and took liberties with any lass who gave in to his advances. Ask Tibbie Cranshaw if you don’t believe me.” Anne’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mr. Laidlaw is a profligate of the worst kind. A virtuous woman like you cannot imagine such a creature.”
Elisabeth’s heart sank. Oh, but I can.
“I refused him twice before he left me alone,” Anne said proudly. “No silver is worth such degradation.”
“Nae, it is not.” Elisabeth looked down at the wooden floor, wishing the heaviness inside her might lift. Could no man be trusted?
She seldom dwelled on Donald’s many infidelities and never spoke of them to Marjory. What mother could bear to hear such things? Yet, months after his death, the pain of betrayal lingered and with it a nagging sense of guilt. Perhaps if she’d railed at him, punished him, denied him, her husband might have changed his wanton ways.
Instead, she’d loved him. And forgiven him.
I am more sorry than I can ever say. Aye, Donald was always sorry. What Donald was not was faithful. She could still recall every word on the lover’s note she’d found in his glove and the list of paramours he’d confessed in a letter. Forgive me, lass. For all of it.
She’d done so. But the heartache remained.
Elisabeth gazed at the door, longing for fresh air and an hour’s walk. “What do the kirk elders say if a member of their flock ventures out of doors on a Sabbath afternoon?”
Anne reached for her wool cape. “Nothing is said. Unless they see you.”
Nine
And as I turn me home,
My shadow walks before.
ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES
arjory woke to find sunlight still filtering through the curtains. She’d napped no more than an hour. The house was quiet, empty. She splashed cool water on her face and dried it with a linen towel,