Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [99]
She rubbed her brow as if trying to erase the words imprinted there. You and your sons were duly warned, madam. Dreadful words, horrible words. I regret to inform you of the consequences of their treason and yours. Words once written by General Lord Mark Kerr, who would live in her home where she’d raised her sons. Her darling sons.
“Nae!” Marjory cried, curling her hands into fists. She banged them, hard, on the table. “He cannot live there! He cannot!”
“Marjory, dearest, please.” Elisabeth bent round her, laying cool hands over her clenched fists. “Your home is here with those who love you.”
“I cannot bear it, Bess.” Her hands began to uncurl as she sank forward. “He has taken everything.”
Elisabeth hovered over her, lightly touching her hair. “When is Lord Mark expected in Selkirk, milord?”
Lord Buchanan’s voice was low. “His men gave me no definite day or time but assured me it will be soon.”
Soon. Marjory stirred.
“Take me there.” She sat up, her eyes wet with tears. “Please, milord. Let me see Tweedsford before it is closed to me forever.”
She feared he might refuse or call her foolish. He did neither.
“At once, Mrs. Kerr.” The admiral stood and helped her to her feet. “If your daughter-in-law might find a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea, you’ll need both this wretched morn.”
Anne touched her arm. “Cousin, shall I come too?”
“Aye, aye.” Marjory looked round her, trying to gather her thoughts. “If the carriage will hold us all. Oh, and Gibson! Bess, we must take him with us. He served me at Tweedsford all those years.” She turned to the admiral, daring to press him further. “Reverend Brown will not mind releasing Gibson from service this morn if you request it, milord.”
“Whatever you wish, madam. Haste is best, for I would not care to cross paths with Lord Mark, for your sake.”
A sharp intake of air. “Indeed not. Annie, please bring the tea.”
The jostling of the carriage and the queasiness in Marjory’s stomach made for an uncomfortable hour. But she was seated between Elisabeth and Gibson, the two people whom she cared about most and who cared about her, so she did not complain.
The northbound route from Selkirk, which ran parallel with the Ettrick Water, was a hilly road that hugged the waterside, then veered sharply upward before reaching the River Tweed and the property that stretched along its banks. Tweedsford. Soon they would pass through the wrought-iron gates, always left open as a sign of hospitality. Or would they be locked this morning?
“Tell me what you can of Roger Laidlaw,” Lord Buchanan was saying. “He will not object to our seeing the property?”
Looking at Anne, Marjory lifted her eyebrows, an unspoken question. Will Mr. Laidlaw mind? Will you?
Anne faintly shook her head. “ ’Tis hard to say what sort of reception we might find.”
Lord Buchanan stared into the rain-drenched countryside “We shall know shortly.”
When, a moment later, they rattled through the gates and across the gravel to the entrance, Marjory confessed, “I do wish you could have seen Tweedsford on a better day, milord.”
He climbed out of the carriage, then turned to offer his hand. “A sailor never objects to water, madam.”
The Kerr party stood in a small, wet knot while Gibson lifted the brass knocker and banged it upon the imposing front door.
After several agonizing minutes, a young footman answered, his livery neat, his face unfamiliar. When Gibson announced Marjory and the others by name, the lad fell back a step. “Leddy Kerr?”
“Aye.” She slowly crossed the threshold, then forced herself to say the words. “This was once my home.”
He bowed rather clumsily. “I … I ken wha ye are, mem.”
Marjory tried to take it all in with one sweeping glance. The polished wood floors shone, even on this gloomy morning. The icy blue silk she’d chosen as a young bride still covered the walls. The grand staircase, rising two floors, dominated the entrance hall, as it always had.
Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
She cleared her throat. “If I might speak with Mr. Laidlaw.”
“Aye