Here Burns My Candle Part 46

The March air was damp and cold, though no wind stung their cheeks. Gibson, the shorter of the two men, led the way uphill, bearing his end of the bundle without complaint as they pa.s.sed the mercat cross, then the tolbooth. When they ducked into Lady Stair's Close and started up the turnpike stair to the third floor, Elisabeth discovered how canny their housekeeper was. A large trunk would have been impossible to navigate up the narrow stair, but their long bundle, however c.u.mbersome, took the constant turning without mishap.

Miss Callander answered at their first knock, her eyes brightening at the sight of Rob coming through her door. "What a surprise, Mr. MacPherson!" Her cheeks soon matched her strawberry hair. Though she was rushing the season wearing spring green, the color was very flattering and the style of her fashionable gown no doubt Parisian. In her late twenties, Meg Callander still had a youthful lilt to her voice. "Come in, Lady Kerr. A pleasure to have you here."

The room was small but well lit, with no shutters or curtains to block the light. An abundance of beeswax candles shone in the gilt-framed looking gla.s.s. Elisabeth noted the painted folding screen, the papier-mache dress form, and the cherry sewing cabinet with its ivory drawer pulls. But it was the vibrantly hued seamstress who commanded the room, despite her diminutive size. Miss Callander had been most sympathetic when she learned of Elisabeth's loss. "Bring your gowns to me, and let us see what can be done," she'd said the last time they spoke.

Now that they were here, Elisabeth found herself reticent to ask for help. But it had to be done, for her family's sake. "Miss Callander," she began, "you will recognize some of your gowns from seasons past. Others here are my own."

"Ah! Those I wish to see first," she insisted. "Mr. MacPherson, if you might unroll the sheet for us?" In a moment the dresses were spread before them like a peac.o.c.k's colorful feathers.

"I made this one two Januarys ago." Elisabeth lifted a dark blue gown with delicate silver braiding on the bodice. She remembered the long wintry hours seated beside her bedchamber window, needle in hand, the l.u.s.trous blue silk draped across her lap.

"Lovely," Miss Callander declared. "Now if I might see the yellow taffeta."

Rob and Gibson stood quietly to the side as the women examined each gown in turn with Elisabeth holding them up, then Miss Callander nodding her approval.

"I shall add some fresh trim," the seamstress decided. "Perhaps remake the sleeves. Whatever is required so none will be the wiser." She lowered her voice. "I hardly need tell you a terrible cloud has settled over your household, Lady Kerr. I must alter your gowns such that my customers will not recognize them as yours. Do forgive me."

"I understand," Elisabeth said, all too aware of the Kerrs' diminished place in society. She did not mind for herself, but Marjory's shame and disappointment were painful to watch. "Might you take some of my gowns?"

"Oh, every one. Your designs are quite impressive." Miss Callander touched the embroidered neckline of an emerald green silk draped across a chair. "Were you not a lady, I'd encourage you to enter the trade."

Elisabeth's heart lifted. "Would you have some use for me, perhaps? In your employ?"

"Oh, Lady Kerr." Miss Callander's small features tightened. "'Twould not be proper. Nae, nae, I cannot consider it, however fine your skill with a needle."

Heat rose from her neck. "Forgive me," Elisabeth murmured.

"Nae, I am the one who is sorry," she a.s.sured her. "We are all trapped by society, n'est-ce pas? As to my offer..." The seamstress counted prettily on her fingers, then announced, "Three pounds each."

"So little?" Elisabeth couldn't contain her disappointment. Only thirty pounds in all. She didn't know the extent of their debts but feared they would quickly swallow the meager earnings. "Might you consider five pounds for the pale green silk with the ruching? Or four pounds for the pink taffeta with the tulle quilling?"

"Exquisitely made," Miss Callander agreed, "but they are hardly new. My resources are such..." She gave a ladylike shrug. "'Tis the best I can offer you, Lady Kerr. Aye or nae?"

Seventy-Two.

When all is said and done,

He's but a tailor's son.

SCOTTISH FOLK SONG.

E lisabeth rubbed her forehead in distress. Would thirty pounds suit her mother-in-law? Or would Marjory be furious that she'd sold the gowns for so little?

When she turned to Rob, seeking his opinion as a tradesman, he nodded. So did she, albeit reluctantly. "Very well, Miss Callander. I accept."

"Ah." The seamstress smiled coyly. "I thought you might."

A small purse was quickly produced-heavy with coins, yet not nearly the weight of ten gowns. Elisabeth tried not to think of seeing her beautiful dresses on the High Street that spring, worn by other gentlewomen who could afford them.

She looked down at the purse in her hands. Let me not be ashamed.

"Will you have tea before you go?" Miss Callander asked, all the while smiling at Rob. "You are invited to stay as well, Mr. MacPherson."

Before Elisabeth could decline, Rob did so for both of them. "We'll not keep ye from yer labors," he said rather brusquely. "Shall we go, Leddy Kerr?"

Moments later the three of them were descending the stair. Rob led the way, with Gibson bearing the sheet under his arm, the gold safely nestled in its folds. When they reached the street, Rob wrapped her hand round the crook of his elbow. "To keep ye safe," he said as they started down the hill.

"That hardly seemed a fair bargain," Elisabeth confessed, matching her gait to his.

"'Twas not," he grumbled. "Meg Callander will double the price whan she sells them and make a tidy profit."

Elisabeth's spirits sank. "Should I have insisted on more?"

"Nae, for I ken the la.s.s, and she'd not have paid it. Besides, ye dinna want to seem desperate, Leddy Kerr."

"But we are desperate," she said in a low voice, hoping no one would hear. "I'm only sorry I have no jewelry I might sell to Mr. Cowie. November last the dragoons took the few pieces I owned, including my seed pearl earrings and choker." Her favorites, worn with Donald's gown, were now tucked in some Englishwoman's jewelry box.

Rob frowned. "Ye own nae jewelry at a'?"

"Only my two silver rings." She released his arm long enough to hold out her gloved hands, satisfied to see the slight b.u.mp on each ring finger.

Rob eyed them both. "How lang will ye wear yer wedding band?"

"As long as I live. Longer still, if it's not yanked from my cold fingers."

Rob hastily wrapped her hand round his arm once more. "And what o' the ither ring?"

"A gift from my mother." She did not elaborate, silently counting the days since the new moon. 'Twas the sixth day, meant for hailing the moon. How little that mattered to her now when she could pray every day, at any hour. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray. Even more remarkable was the promise that followed. And he shall hear my voice.

She glanced at the ring beneath her right glove. If she no longer trusted the Nameless One, could she slide the silver band off her finger? A ring pa.s.sed down by her great-grandmother? Nae, if only for sentiment's sake. Nor could she remove Donald's ring. However unfaithful he was to her, she would not be unfaithful to him.

"Lord Kerr fell at Falkirk two months ago this day," she said.

Rob stiffened. "D'ye think on him ilka hour?"

"I do, aye." She could see that did not please him.

The small party continued in silence until they reached the door of Rob's tailoring shop. "Will ye come and see my faither?" he asked, unlocking the door.

Elisabeth gazed through the window, knowing she could never refuse. "Aye, but we must let Gibson hurry home. 'Tis almost the dinner hour, and he'll be needed."

With a bob of his head, the manservant took off for Milne Square.

"Come, Bess." The bell jingled as Rob shut the door, leaving his Closed sign in place. "I've little custom on a Monday," he explained, guiding her through the dimly lit shop. Though it was the middle of the day, they found Angus fast asleep, the bedcovers drawn round his neck.

Rob extinguished the candle by his father's bed. "He's not weel, Bess." Indeed, the older man's skin was waxy and pale, and his breathing was ragged.

She looked down at him, her heart aching. "I am very sorry to hear it."

Rob was quiet for a long time, then said, "My mither died whan I was a wee lad. 'Twas my faither wha raised me."

Elisabeth heard the gruff affection in his voice. "I was too young to remember your mother, but I heard many a story about Mrs. MacPherson and her venison gravy."

"Oo aye," Rob said. "Dinna tell a soul, but she flavored it with green walnut pickle." He stepped closer and spoke more softly, lest they wake Angus. "She threatened to pour a bottle doon my throat onie time I misbehaved."

"Daily, then," Elisabeth chided him.

Her gaze was fixed on Angus, but her other senses were attuned to Rob, now standing directly behind her. Nae, not standing. Looming, as dark and as silent as Creag Choinnich, rising behind her mother's Highland cottage.

Though his presence unnerved her at times, Rob understood her in ways the Kerrs never could. She and Rob had grown up in the same mountain fastness. Saw the world through the same lens. Knew the same people and shared the same history. Though she was a lady now and he was a tailor's son, they were not so very different.

"I miss home," she said simply.

Rob's breath was warm against her hair. "I feared ye'd forgotten the Hielands."

"Never." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Perhaps when the Rising is over... perhaps I'll return for a visit. If my mother..." Elisabeth bowed her head. "If she'll have me."

"Ye ken she will, my bonny Bess." His arm slipped loosely round her waist. "I'll gladly escort ye hame to Braemar parish whan the time comes."

She shook her head. "I'm a widow, Rob. You know very well I cannot travel so far with an unmarried man."

"Aye the proper leddy." His voice was low and musical, each phrase beginning on a higher note and ending farther down the scale. "What if the man were married?"

"Rob!" She spun round in surprise, barely noticing that his arms now encircled her completely. "Do you plan to wed?"

"I do," he said, the line of his jaw firm. "January next, whan the leddy is free to marry."

Elisabeth felt strangely discomfited by his news. "Is the la.s.s from Castleton? Or from Edinburgh?"

His steady gaze met hers. "Both."

"Oh, Rob..." Elisabeth turned her head, hiding her dismay. Had she not known this day would come? "I do not... I cannot..."

"Aye, ye can." He slowly tightened his embrace. "I've waited for ye a' my life, Bess Ferguson. And I'll not be denied. Not without a verra guid reason."

My heart still belongs to Donald. Was that not reason enough?

"Rob, please. What if your father woke and found us like this?" Her question gave him pause, long enough for her to ease out of his embrace.

But he did not let go entirely. His hand still firmly grasped hers. "My faither kens my feelings for ye, Bess. And ye do as weel." He tugged her toward their table near the fire. "Ye've not had yer dinner. Come, let me serve ye broth and bread and tell ye what I have in mind. If yer answer is nae, then I must accept it. But hear me oot afore ye answer, aye?"

Elisabeth already knew her answer. But how could she refuse to listen when he'd served her family so faithfully? Still wrapped in her cape, she found a seat at the plain wooden table. Rob ladled two servings of c.o.c.k-a-leekie soup from the fragrant pot simmering on the fire and placed them on the table with b.u.t.ter and a loaf of crusty bread.

She tried not to tear into her food, but she was hungry. The flavorful chicken and leeks, cooked in veal stock, filled an empty place inside her. And she needed time to think, time to sort through the best way to refuse his well-intentioned offer of marriage. It is too soon, Rob. Nae, that was not the whole of it. Your love borders on obsession. That was closer to the truth. In Rob's presence she felt both safe and in danger, if such a thing was possible.

When she put aside her horn spoon, sated at last, she looked up to find Rob's dark eyes measuring her. "Have ye nae food at Milne Square?" he asked.

Embarra.s.sed, she averted her gaze. "Aye, we do, though 'tis not quite so hearty."

He reached across the table and easily circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. "Ye've lost weight."

"Maybe a little."

He was beside her at once, pulling off her cape, frowning at what he saw. "Why did ye not tell me, Bess? I thocht ye sold yer gowns because ye didna need them or didna want them. Not because yer table was bare." He stood and paced the floor, his voice a low rumble. "Had I kenned the truth, I'd have forced Meg Callander to pay ye mair for yer gowns. Why did ye not tell me?" he asked again.

Elisabeth drew her cape round her shoulders, feeling exposed. "I did not want to trouble you with family business-"

"Ye are my family," he said, "or, at any rate, ye will be. I canna save them a', Bess, but I can surely save ye." He sat down again, his chair pulled close to hers, one arm propped on the table. "I promised to tell ye my plan, and sae I will. Come the first o' May, whan the weather breaks, I'll escort ye hame to Castleton o' Braemar. And whan yer twelvemonth o' mourning has pa.s.sed, we'll marry."

"But..."

"I dinna need yer answer now," he protested. "Not until ye've given it meikle thocht." He pulled a letter from his waistcoat and placed it before her. "I've written it a' doon, Bess. Read it whan ye're alone. On Monday next I'll come to Milne Square and expect yer answer, aye or nae."

Elisabeth gazed at the folded letter, knowing it contained all his hopes for the future. "You've honored me greatly, Rob."

He touched her cheek. "I want to do mair than honor ye, la.s.s. I want to marry ye."

She looked into his dark eyes. He was not wealthy, but he would never be poor. He was not cultured, but he knew much of the world and how it worked. He was not a gentleman, but he was an honest man.

Aye, he was a tailor's son, but wasn't she a weaver's daughter?

And Rob loved her. Would love only her, the whole of his life. If he doted on her endlessly, besetting her at every turn, was that not better than a man whose affections she could never fully trust?

Rob brushed his lips across her brow. "Come, I'll walk ye hame, Bess. In a week, whan I knock on yer door, I hope to hear guid news."

Seventy-Three.

I know not how to tell thee!