Here Burns My Candle (50 page)

He grabbed her hands and squeezed them hard, pressing her rings into her fingers. “Och, lass! There’s aye hope.”

Sixty-Nine

I will indulge my sorrow, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair.

JOSEPH ADDISON

S
till warm from their afternoon spent by the fire, Elisabeth and Rob started downhill toward Milne Square. Though the bitter wind kept most folk withindoors, the plainstanes were free of ice and snow, and the sky hinted at neither.

“Will ye come ilka week, like ye said?” Rob asked.

“I’ll do my best.” She could see that was not good enough. “Truly, I will, Rob. If my mother-in-law will not mind—”

“Why should she mind?” he grumbled. “Ye’ve nae need to answer to the leddy for yer time.”

“But I do,” Elisabeth told him. “I owe her a great deal. She accepted me into her family—”

“Accepted?” Rob moved in front of her, halting their progress. “D’ye hear yerself, Bess? Making excuses for a woman wha calls herself a leddy whan ’tis neither birth nor siller that makes a person guid.” Elisabeth started to object, but he pressed his point. “Leddy Kerr hasna treated ye as weel as ye deserve. Nor did her son.” His dark countenance said the rest.

“Rob, I’ll not have you speak ill of my husband. Or my family.”

His tone changed at once. “I’m sorry, Bess. I had nae richt.”

She sighed, regretting she’d spoken so directly. “I know you mean only to protect me, Rob.”

“Aye, aye,” he was quick to say, turning so she might take his arm once more. “That was a’ I meant to do.” He drew her close as they started walking again. “’Tis my nature to watch o’er folk I care about.”

She merely nodded rather than pursue the subject. She knew Rob cared for her a great deal more than he should.

They were nearing Writer’s Court when a stranger called out, “Leddy Kerr?”

They turned toward the door of a merchant who was beckoning them into his shop. “Milady, might I have a wee bit o’ yer time?”

Elisabeth glanced at the sign painted above the lintel—
Patrick Cowie, Merchant, Jewelry and Silver Bought and Sold—then
followed Rob within, more than a little curious. She’d never given the jeweler her custom. Whatever could he want with her?

Mr. Cowie’s ground-floor shop was as small and poorly lit as the others in the Luckenbooths, but his merchandise appeared of a higher quality than most. A large, glass-topped case full of beautiful pins, rings, earrings, and necklaces was positioned to catch a woman’s eye, her own included.

He was beaming at her now, this red-headed merchant whose thick eyebrows and bushy mustache were engaged in a heated competition. “’Tis fortunate ye came along, Leddy Kerr. Your brooch just arrived from Paris. I meant to send a caddie aff with a note—”

“My
brooch
?”

“Aye. Lord Kerr ordered the piece September last. He was verra specific about the style and color.” Mr. Cowie reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small wooden box. “I think ye’ll be pleased with the likeness, mem.” His hands, covered in fine red hair, deftly opened the lid. “Made o’ queen conch shell from the West Indies.”

Elisabeth stared at the oval pin exquisitely carved in a creamy peach and ivory shell and encased in sterling silver.
I shall have a cameo engraved in Paris
. A promise made by her husband on a bright September morn.

The cameo was a woman’s face. Her face.
Oh, Donald
.

Elisabeth gingerly lifted the brooch from its velvet lining, marveling at the intricate swirls and tiny details. “It’s lovely,” she finally said, placing it back in the box with care, then brushing away her tears. “I shall look forward to wearing it.”

“I’ve nae doubt,” the merchant agreed. Then he added, “I’m sorry for yer loss, Leddy Kerr. Mebbe this will add a sweetness to yer sorrow, aye?” He replaced the lid on the box and proceeded to tie it up with a silk ribbon, making rather a show of it. “Ye’ll be wanting to take this with ye?”

“Please.” She glanced at Rob, having almost forgotten he was with her, so taken was she with Donald’s final gift to her. Rob stood in the corner, sullen and brooding. “We’ll leave in a moment,” she promised.

The merchant placed the neatly wrapped box in her hands. “Will ye take the bill with ye, or shall I send it round at month’s end?”

Her hands grew cold. “The…bill? Did Lord Kerr not already pay for this?”

“Hoot!” he said with a laugh. “’Tis not how it’s done, milady. I often order special pieces for my guid customers. Whan they arrive, if they like them, they pay me, and if they dinna, I sell them to anither.” He waved his hand at the display case. “Some o’ these came into the shop that way. Ithers I buy from leddies whan they tire o’ wearing them. Like this jade brooch. Mebbe ye’d like it as weel?”

When he started to lift the glass, Elisabeth stayed his hand. “Not today.” She swallowed. “How much is my cameo?”

The merchant consulted his ledger, then blithely told her the amount.

’Twas enough to feed the Kerr household for a month, if not two. “Oh, Mr. Cowie, I cannot possibly keep it.”

His countenance fell. “But yer husband, mem… he meant for ye to have it.”

“I know he did.” She clutched the box to her breast.
My generous Donald! I am so sorry. So very sorry
.

Rob stood close behind her, boldly resting one hand on her waist. “Mr. Cowie, if Leddy Kerr and I might have a moment.”

“Oo aye.” The merchant rubbed his hands together expectantly, then moved toward the door leading to the back of his shop. “I’ll not be far,” he assured them.

Elisabeth put down the box. “We do not have… Rob, my family cannot begin to afford this.”

He drew closer. She felt the warmth of his body along the length of her back, and his breath against her ear. “I can, Bess.”

“Nae, Rob.” She turned round and was almost in his embrace. “’Twould not be right. This was my husband’s gift to me. And you are…you are…”

“Yer freen.” He looked down at her, slipping off his glove to smooth away her tears, his fingers warm and scented with leather. “Yer guid freen, if ye will. And I’ll not see yer heart broken again. Not when I can help.”

“Rob, please—”

He touched her mouth with his fingertips, stilling her words. “And I
can
help, Bess. I’ve had a lang time to save my siller. I’ve mair than enough to buy yer wee pin.”

“’Tis a most charitable offer.” She bent her head, undone by the love she saw in his eyes.

“Please leuk at me, Bess.”

“I am a widow, Rob. I am in mourning…”

He lifted her chin, not letting her escape his gaze. “I ken what ye are, Bess. And I ken what I feel for ye. Will ye not let me do this one kindness?”

“Nae,” she whispered, “I cannot.”
Cannot, must not, will not
. Stepping free of his touch, she fled for the door.

“Leddy Kerr!”

She held up her hand, not looking back.
Please, Rob. Let me go
.

She slowed her steps only a little when she reached the plainstanes, not wanting to draw the attention of the Town Guard or, worse, a dragoon. But she had to get away from Rob MacPherson. He knew her too well. And he loved her too much. She aimed straight for Milne Square, dodging sedan chairs and wheeled carts and men on horseback and women in fur capes, never once looking over her shoulder to see if Rob was following.

All at once a young woman darted into her path, nearly knocking her off her feet. “I beg your pardon,” Elisabeth murmured, though it was not her fault.

The young woman pushed back the hood of her threadbare cape. “Ye dinna remember me, Leddy Kerr?”

Elisabeth stared at the fair-haired lass with the light-colored eyes.
A crafty limmer, that one
. “You are…” She wet her lips, suddenly gone dry. “You are Lucy Spence of Halkerston’s Wynd.”
The last name on Donald’s list
.

The young widow smiled. “Aye, ye
do
remember. And weel ye should, milady.” Lucy winked at her. “I took yer coin that eve we met and ran aff to White Horse Close to be with yer husband.”

Elisabeth wanted to slap her. Wanted to scream at her.

He did not love you. You were not the only one
.

Instead Elisabeth stood her ground and begged for a strength she did not possess.
O God, be not far from me: O my God, make haste for my help
.

But the Widow Spence was not finished with her yet. “Whan I saw ye just now, Leddy Kerr, I wanted to tell ye I was sorry for yer loss.” She ducked her head, her blond hair unkempt, her neck raw from the wind. “I lost my husband too. And I ken how ye must feel.”

Elisabeth bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Lucy looked up, her expression almost sincere. “I thocht it might comfort ye to hear that whan I went to White Horse Close on that last nicht, yer husband turned me awa.”

I can change the days to come
. Donald had kept his word after all.

“Aye, he turned me awa,” Lucy continued, “twice, afore he finally took me to his room.”

Elisabeth stared at her, all hope ebbing away. “He … took you …”

“Aye. Whan we finished, he had tears in his e’es. I ken they were not for me.” She turned to go, then said as an afterthought, “Lord Kerr luved ye, and that’s a fact.”

Elisabeth watched the widow stroll off, while her own feet seemed frozen to the ground. “Aye,” she whispered into the wind, “he loved me.”

But not enough
.

Seventy

While shame keeps its watch
virtue is not wholly extinguished from the heart.

EDMUND BURKE

F
orgive me, mem. Oor bill was presented to ye in January. And again in February.” Mr. Chapman, the meal seller, tapped his finger on the bill in question. “Now ’tis March.”

In all her eight-and-forty years, Marjory had never had a tradesman come to her door to collect payment. Gibson had always paid her bills in person—with trustworthy coins, not paper bank notes—and always on time. From the day the Kerrs arrived in Edinburgh, they’d been favored customers of every merchant in town.

But no more.

The shame of it left her speechless. “Mr.… ah, Chapman,” she began, then splayed her very empty hands. “I don’t quite… I am not in a position to…pay you.”

His eyebrows, the color of the oats he’d sold her, were arched in a look of surprise. “Whan might we expect yer bill to be settled, mem?”

Marjory tried to sound confident. “Whitsuntide. I realize that is several weeks… I mean to say, several months hence. I do hope you’ll forgive the delay, Mr. Chapman.” Fearing his reprisal, she added in a low voice that begged for sympathy, “We’ve had two deaths in our family this winter.”

“And ye have my condolences, ye surely do. The month o’ May, then.” He bowed and departed in haste, his coattails flapping as he bolted down the stair.

Marjory closed the door, feeling nauseated. She’d used the loss of her sons to bargain with a tradesman. No wonder he’d fled, embarrassed for her.

Janet appeared in the entrance hall. “Who was at the door, Lady Marjory?”

“Mr. Chapman, the meal seller.”

“How very odd,” Janet said. “He usually has one of his lads make deliveries.”

Marjory turned to her, needing to be truthful with the family at least. “He came hoping to take something with him: payment in full. I had to send him away with naught in his pockets.”

Her daughter-in-law looked properly shocked. “Is it so bad as that?”

“Worse.” Marjory started for Elisabeth’s bedchamber. “The time has come for both of you to be informed of our situation.”

“Oh?” Janet walked beside Marjory, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

They found Elisabeth seated close to the window, sewing a man’s shirt.

Before Marjory could ask for an explanation, Elisabeth held up the bleached muslin, expertly stitched. “A birthday present for Angus.”

“The man is a tailor,” Marjory reminded her. “Can he not sew his own shirts?”

Her daughter-in-law tipped her head, appraising her work. “Aye, but it’s a welcome change to have someone do it for you.”

Perhaps her gift was not so scandalous, Marjory decided. Certainly nothing compared to what she’d just told Mr. Chapman. “At the moment we must speak candidly, the three of us.”

Marjory sat by the fire in the least damaged of the upholstered chairs, while Janet chose the second best one, pulling it so close to the fire she risked singeing her new mourning gown. Elisabeth took a chair with most of the brocade torn loose and placed her single candle on the mantelpiece, dispelling a bit of the gloom. In Scotland early March was far from spring.

Marjory struggled with where to begin. “As you know, I’ve managed Donald’s inheritance since the death of his father. The rent from our tenants has provided a steady income. Lord John’s own resources were sizable, and I brought a goodly sum of money into our marriage as well.” She paused, mustering her courage. “Alas, Mr. Laidlaw could not forward the rents at Martinmas because of the Rising. And I invested most of our guineas in the prince’s cause. All of which leaves us in rather dire straits.”

Janet frowned. “Is there nothing hidden beneath the floors at Tweedsford that you might send for later?”

“Nae, I regret to say. We brought all our gold to Edinburgh once it became clear…once we decided to stay.”
When you decided, Marjory. When you all but demanded
.

“Surely the Rising will be resolved by Whitsuntide,” Elisabeth said, ever the optimist concerning the prince. “Then your income from Tweedsford can safely travel north.”

“Aye, but…” Marjory watched their faces. “At the moment we have almost nothing to live on.” She pulled out the last leather purse full of coins. Her gold had turned into mere silver and copper. Not by magic-no indeed—but by her own indiscretion. A simple proverb nagged at her.
How much better is it to get wisdom than gold!
She always learned these things too late.