Here Burns My Candle (58 page)

Janet frowned. “These friends of yours. They will provide lodging?”

“I could not ask that of them,” Marjory admitted. “But they might know of a prospect…” Even saying the words, she realized the futility of such an expectation. Who would offer lodging to three penniless women?

Janet’s voice rose with her ire. “You expect us to travel forty miles with no hope of a bed or a meal waiting for us?”

“We do have relatives there, however distant,” Marjory told her. That, at least, was not a fabrication. Anne Kerr, one of Lord John’s cousins, still resided in Selkirk.

“Perhaps we could write to these relatives?” Elisabeth had such hope in her eyes that Marjory found her own spirits lifting. No wonder Donald had loved this young woman.

“I will pen a letter at once,” Marjory agreed, already composing one in her mind even as she prayed.
Please let Anne be willing, Lord. Please
.

“In the meantime I’ll attend to our supper.” Elisabeth stood, gazing down at her. “You’ll find stationery and sharpened quills on Donald’s secretary.”

Donald
. A twinge of pain.
Not Lord Donald. Not ever again
. Marjory waited, letting the sadness move through her. She had already lost her husband and sons. The loss of their title was trifling in comparison.

Moments later she was seated at her tea table with paper, pen, and ink at hand. A soft rain had begun to fall, washing the windowpanes. Gazing at the pale gray sky, she considered how best to begin.
I am coming home to Selkirk with my two daughters-in-law…

Marjory held the quill but could not put pen to paper. Tears stung her eyes. Did she think this was so easily managed? A few lines on a page and all would be settled? One woman might be absorbed into a household, but not three.

Still, her daughters-in-law were counting on her to provide for them.
How can I, Lord, when I have nothing?
She stared at the blank page, her heart aching. Janet and Elisabeth had been willing enough to accompany her to a fine estate. But Cousin Anne’s humble lodgings in Selkirk were another matter. And what if Anne turned them away the moment they arrived?

I am coming home to Selkirk with my two daughters-in-law…

Nae
. The prospect was too risky and far too uncertain.

Marjory pressed against her brow, holding back the pain.
Must I let go of them as well?
Tears dropped onto the paper as the answer became clear.
Aye
. She would send Janet and Elisabeth home to the Highlands. To the houses they knew and the families who loved them. However unexpected their return, a warm greeting was certain.

But not for her.

Marjory reached for a fresh piece of stationery, then bowed her head, drying her tears.
Please make a way for me, Lord. Lead me and guide me
.

Her memories of Anne Kerr were faint. She was perhaps six-and-thirty now, a
stayed lass
, unless she’d finally married. Thoughtful and soft-spoken, Anne was a fair-haired woman with a gentle smile. Marjory imagined her husband’s cousin standing before her as she began to write.

To Miss Anne Kerr
Halliwell’s Close, Selkirk
Monday, 21 April 1746

Dear Cousin Anne:

I pray this letter finds you, and finds you well.

How much to tell Anne? All of Selkirk would learn of the forfeiture when a new owner appeared at Tweedsford, if not sooner. Would her cousin be sympathetic? Or suspicious?

Alas, I have buried my husband, John Kerr, and my sons, Donald and Andrew. I am coming home to Selkirk.

There it was in ink. She would travel alone. Marjory had weathered so many difficult good-byes of late, but she could not imagine parting with both her daughters-in-law at once. Janet might be glad to be rid of her, but Elisabeth…

Marjory looked toward the kitchen.
My dear Bess
. The weaver’s daughter from Braemar, who’d quietly won her heart.
You chose well
,
Donald
. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and returned to her letter, praying Anne might be half so generous as Elisabeth.

Of my late husband’s relatives, you are the only one I know who still resides in Selkirk. I expect to arrive on Saturday next. Might you kindly accommodate me until I find lodgings of my own?

She hoped her cousin’s eyes would gloss over the word
until
. It might be a long time before Marjory found somewhere else to abide. She remembered Halliwell’s Close as a quaint and cozy place in the heart of town. If Anne still lived there and if she had sufficient room, might she make a home for her? For good?
Please may it be so, Lord
.

Marjory suddenly realized Gibson would also need somewhere to lay his head. Dare she ask for that as well?

This letter comes to you by way of our manservant of many years, Neil Gibson. I would be forever in your debt if you directed Mr. Gibson to an appropriate lodging place until I arrive.

Eagerly anticipating the renewal of our acquaintance,

Your cousin,
Marjory Kerr

She had no title nor property to mention. Two names, nothing more. Hardly impressive. But she did not need her cousin’s respect or admiration. She needed her help.

And she needed Gibson’s assistance as well. Marjory found him at table, dutifully polishing the family’s last three silver spoons. A more loyal servant did not exist in Christendom. “Come,” she murmured, glad neither daughter-in-law was within earshot.

“What is it, mem?” he asked as she led him to the farthest corner of her chamber.

She kept her eye on the door and her voice low. “On Thursday I will
take the carriage to Selkirk, just as you’ve arranged. But I am sending my daughters-in-law to their Highland families byway of Perth.”

“Have ye not told them?”

“Nae, nor will I. Not until that morn.” She sighed. “’Twill be hard enough to bid one another farewell. Better to surprise them and send them on their way.”

Gibson nodded, though he did not look convinced.

“On the morrow kindly stop at White Horse Close and make the necessary changes in our arrangements.”

“Aye, mem. But I’ll need mair shillings to do sae.”

She dug several coins out of her pocket, for once not begrudging the expense. These were the widows of her sons. They deserved a chance at happiness, not a lifetime of caring for an aging mother-in-law.

“As for my own journey,” she told him, “I cannot afford to send a letter ahead by messenger. Nor would I dare prevail upon a distant relation to pay for my post when it arrives. But if you might travel ahead of me, Gibson, and deliver my letter to Anne Kerr …”

He bowed. “Whatsomever ye need, mem.”

Only then did Marjory realize what she was asking of him. Gibson would have no position waiting for him in Selkirk. She could not employ him nor expect strangers to readily bring another manservant into their household. “Gibson, I am afraid…”

“I ken, mem. Ye’ll have nae need o’ me whan ye arrive.”

“Oh, I shall always need you,” she was quick to say. “But I cannot pay your wages nor offer you food or lodging.”

He nodded as if prepared for this news. How could he not be in a household where plenishings were ravaged, then sold at auction, and a title and property were lost in a single afternoon?

“I’ll provide a written character,” she promised him, “with so glowing a commendation of your services that any of the grand houses in Selkirkshire would welcome you through their door. Perhaps even the new owner of Tweedsford…” Her voice faltered.

“Nae,” he said firmly. “I canna serve at Tweedsford unless the Kerrs are resident.”

Lord Mark’s disastrous letter had not brought tears to her eyes. But Gibson’s few words did. “God bless you,” she whispered, blinking lest she embarrass them both.

Tuesday morning the women had breakfast earlier than usual, with Gibson standing at the end of the table, ever waiting to be of service.

Marjory had finished her letters, praying they might be well received. She was asking a great deal of a woman she did not know and was more than a little nervous about traveling alone. Reaching for a word of solace, Marjory quickly found it and held it close to her heart.
Hide me under the shadow of thy wings
.

Elisabeth emerged from the kitchen with Gibson’s rough leather bag, ready to be strapped to his back. “I’ve packed several meals for you,” she told him, placing his bag on the table. “Hard cheese, fresh bannocks, and boiled eggs. I trust you’ll find a wee burn when you’re thirsty.”

“Aye, aye.” Gibson thanked her profusely, bobbing his head.

Marjory joined them at the foot of the table. “You’ll no doubt remember the journey takes four days if you keep a reasonable pace over the Moorfoot Hills.” She hesitated, then said what was pressing on her heart. “I am sorry we cannot afford…”

“Nae, mem,” he said gruffly. “I nae mair belong in a carriage than Mrs. Edgar.” He waved his hand toward the window. “’Tis a fine spring day for a walk. I’ve a plaid for my bed and a feast for my stomach. Nae doubt a farmer will let me ride in his oxcart. I’ll reach Selkirk lang afore ye do.”

She nodded. “At least by a day or two.”
If all goes well. If God is kind
. “You’ll not forget to stop by White Horse Close?” Marjory sought his gaze. “To be sure our carriage seats are… properly arranged?”

“I’ll not forget, mem.”

Nothing remained but to bid Gibson farewell.

All three of them followed him into the entrance hall. Even Janet looked sad to see him leave.

“Ye’ll a’ be safe?” he asked them.

“We will.” Marjory tucked a shilling into the palm of his hand and folded his fingers round it. Her eyes grew moist. “I wish I had more to give you.”

He ducked his head, working hard to keep his emotions at bay. “Ye’ve been sae guid to me, mem. Sae verra guid.”

“You are the one who’s been good to the Kerr family all these years.” Marjory blew her nose into her handkerchief, then laughed a little. “We’ve no need for tears, have we? Not when we’ll see each other again soon. By week’s end, Lord willing.”

“Aye.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Marjory patted his waistcoat pocket. “You have both letters? For Cousin Anne and for your future employer?”

“I do, Leddy Kerr.”

“I’m no longer to be addressed as lady,” Marjory reminded him.

His chin jutted out. “Niver mind what the king says. Ye’ll aye be Leddy Kerr to me.”

My dear Gibson
. She kissed his ruddy cheek before he turned toward the door.

Eighty-One

On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend,
The almost sacred joys of Home depend.

HANNAH MORE

T
hursday dawned with a moist wind from the west and a dark sky full of low clouds. Not an auspicious day for a journey.

Marjory was bathed and dressed and pacing through the house by five o’ the clock, making very sure naught had been forgotten. Mr. Bail-lie would oversee the noontide removal of her plenishings by Mrs. Pitcairn’s men. Better not to be on hand, Marjory had decided. Seeing her home of ten years dismantled was more than she could bear.

Their coaches would depart four hours hence—hers to the south, Janet and Elisabeth’s to the north. She’d almost told them of their different destinations, then reminded herself it was wiser to wait. If they’d insisted on going with her, she might have relented, and that would never do. Now the hour was upon them, and the arrangements were made. She could send her daughters-in-law on their way, knowing she’d done her best by them.

For your sake, my beloved Donald. And for yours, dear Andrew
.

And for her own sake as well—she could not deny it. If she tried to make a home for her daughters-in-law in Selkirk and failed to do so, she would never recover from the guilt.

Marjory paused by the coal grate, empty since Monday, and pressed one hand to her stomach, wincing. Too little food and even less sleep. Last eve the city had flung open its doors and celebrated the British victory at Culloden with skyrockets exploding from the castle in a vivid array of colors. Kirk bells were rung up and down the High Street, and a bonfire was lit on the Salisbury Crags. Decorative illuminations filled the windows, with
W.D.C.
for William, Duke of Cumberland, and
Deliverer of Great Britain
, and scenes with
Justice
trampling
Rebellion
, her sword thrust in its heart.

The three of them had watched the festivities with an odd sense of detachment. This was not their victory; this was no longer their home.

Marjory stood in the midst of her bedchamber now, struggling to remember what the room had once looked like. Empty shelves and faded places where paintings once hung spoke of a life that was no more.

I will look unto the LORD.
She had nowhere else to turn. He had closed every door; he had fenced every path.
Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him
. Aye, it had come to that. He had taken everyone and everything she loved. If he took her as well, so be it.

Her eyes were dry but only for the moment. When she looked into Elisabeth’s lovely face, when she sent her daughter-in-law on her way…

Nae
. Not yet, not yet.

Marjory heard her stirring in the next room. Might she speak with her alone before Janet awoke? Marjory tapped on the door and waited for a response before entering.

“Good morn,” Elisabeth said, then bent to splash her face with the remaining contents of her water pitcher. She dried her cheeks, eying Marjory round her linen towel, a faint twinkle in her eye. “Will they have hot water in Selkirk, do you suppose?”