Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [28]
But their crumbling pew in the kirk was another matter. “I understand Mr. Laidlaw has not been prompt in paying our rent for the Kerr aisle,” Marjory said, on surer footing this time.
“Aye, well …” Reverend Brown shifted forward in his chair. “We’ve not collected pew rents in several years. The kirk session is considering pulling the old kirk down.”
“Truly?” Marjory was taken aback by the news. “Our sanctuary has stood for two hundred years.”
“Some days I feel I’ve done the same.” The minister rose with considerable effort and started toward the door, candle in hand. “I’ve kept you long enough, Mrs. Kerr.”
Clearly her visit had exhausted him. Marjory trailed after the reverend into the entranceway. “I do hope you find a manservant soon.”
“Aye.” He tarried with her at the door, one hand resting on the latch.
“As it happens,” she said, “our former manservant, Neil Gibson, was to arrive in Selkirk ahead of us. Yet here it is Tuesday, and we’ve not heard from him.” Marjory hesitated but only for an instant. “You’ll remember Gibson, I’m sure, from our years at Tweedsford. Might you help us find him, Reverend?”
He did not respond at first, his jaw working as if she’d given him an especially tough cut of meat. Finally he said, “One of the elders, Joseph Haldane, is bound for Middleton in the morn. Suppose I have him inquire at the inn—”
“Would you?” Marjory sank against the wall in relief. Nearly every traveler on the Edinburgh road stopped at the Middleton Inn. “Surely the proprietor will have news for us.”
The minister made no such promise. “We shall see when Mr. Haldane returns on Thursday.”
Two days. Aye, she could bear two more days.
Reverend Brown regarded her, his wrinkled lips tightly drawn like a calfskin purse. “Change is refreshing,” he said, pulling the door open. “ ’Tis an old Gaelic proverb your daughter-in-law will know. You may need that reminder in the months to come, Mrs. Kerr. I am certain I will.”
She gazed at the aging minister who’d given his best years to their parish. From the pulpit he was intimidating, even frightening. But in person, bathed in the flickering candlelight, his wisdom and mercy shone through.
“God be with you,” she said in parting, then stepped into the crowded street, hearing the door close firmly behind her. Each detail of their conversation replayed in her mind as she hastened downhill, ducking round the horses and carts, the fishwives and pie sellers, the tradesmen and laborers who darted in front of her.
She had to get to Anne’s house. Had to tell Elisabeth. We’re here to stay. We’re home.
When she turned into Halliwell’s Close, Marjory paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, then squinted, uncertain what she was seeing. Was someone at their door? A man of middling size and middling age, no more than a shadow. But as she moved forward, the shadow took shape, and a voice she’d not heard in many seasons spoke her name.
“Leddy Kerr?”
She tried to swallow but could not. “Mr. Laidlaw.”
The factor of Tweedsford stood there empty handed, looking precisely as she’d remembered him. Brown, straight hair tied back with a bit of leather, small eyes set rather too close, and a mouth drawn by a firm hand wielding a sharp pen.
But Anne’s description was the one she could not forget. A lecherous man without scruples. She’d pledged to face Mr. Laidlaw without fear. That hour had come.
He cleared his throat. “I received yer letter—”
“Then where are the items I asked you to bring?” Her words were sharper than she intended, but she could not take them back.
He inclined his head toward the door. “I left them up the stair with the leddies.”
“You entered my cousin’s house?” Marjory could only imagine Anne’s reaction.
“I didna stay but a minute,” he quickly explained. “A stranger answered my knock. Tall, with dark hair. She wouldna let me in.”
Elisabeth. Well done, lass.
Roger Laidlaw remained by the door, blocking