Mine Is the Night A Novel

Fifteen

Our real blessings often appear to us

in the shape of pains, losses and disappointments;

but let us have patience, and we soon

shall see them in their proper figures.

JOSEPH ADDISON



arjory trudged across the marketplace, hardly able to lift her feet. My dear Gibson, dead. Because of me.

“We cannot be certain,” Reverend Brown had cautioned her before hurrying off to meet with the schoolmaster. “The weather has been milder than usual. As I recall, he’s a capable man, your Gibson.”

Aye, he was. And loyal. And kind.

Tears stung her eyes. Could Neil Gibson truly be gone from this world?

“I’ll reach Selkirk lang afore ye do,” Gibson had said before bidding her farewell at Milne Square. She’d believed him, convincing herself that no obstacle strewed in Gibson’s path could deter him. Though she’d not had a shilling to spare when they’d left Edinburgh, the fact was, if she’d managed to pay for his seat in a carriage, Gibson would be alive now, safe by her side. How could she live with that awful truth?

Forgive me, forgive me. She’d begged that of Lord John when he lay in his grave and then of both her sons when she learned of their deaths. Perhaps she bore some terrible curse, condemning any man she held dear.

Marjory avoided the May Day revelers with their youthful exuberance and aimed her steps toward the East Port. Any plan to greet her neighbors was quickly forsaken. Such banter required a light heart, a kind word, a ready smile. She could produce none of those. Not this day.

Keeping to one side of Water Row, Marjory fixed her gaze on the broad thoroughfare where strangers on horseback trotted into town and the occasional carriage rattled past. She scanned the men’s faces, desperate to see a silver fringe of hair, a wrinkled brow. For the journey south Gibson had traded his neatly pressed livery for a plain brown coat and breeches, so she kept an eye out for such clothing among the passersby.

But her search was in vain. Was the whole world no older than forty? And dressed in every color but brown?

Stop it, Marjory. Stop looking for him.

She jutted out her chin to keep it from trembling, brushed away the last of her tears, then spun on her heel. If she could not save Gibson, then she would mourn him in private.

It seemed the whole of Selkirk stood between her and Halliwell’s Close. Folk congregated round one another’s doors—talking, arguing, laughing—while children skipped about with their hoops and sticks, dogs barking at their heels. Silver flasks were passed from hand to hand, and young girls threw caution to the winds, flirting with lads they would never speak to were it not May Day.

Marjory did not notice a carriage drawing near until a man’s voice called down to her in warning, “Have a care, mem!”

As the horses lurched to a stop, she looked over her shoulder and immediately recognized the coachman, with his thick eyebrows and deeply lined face. “Thank you for delivering my letter to Tweedsford,” she said, stepping close enough to be heard. “I trust you were paid?”

“Oo aye,” he answered in a gruff voice. “Yer man gave me mair than I asked for.”

Though Mr. Laidlaw was no longer in her employ, she did not correct the coachman on that point. “I don’t imagine you have any news of Neil Gibson, the manservant I described to you on the Sabbath?”

He wagged his head. “Nae, mem. I’ve yet to hear his name bandied about.”

Marjory sighed. Just as she’d feared: more ill news.

But the coachman wasn’t finished. “Noo that ye ask, I did pass a man on foot. Balding, did ye say? With a bit o’ gray?”

“Aye!” Hope rose inside her. Might it be Gibson?

“I canna say for sure ’twas him,” the man cautioned, scratching at his beard. “He was dressed in plain clothing, yet walked like gentry. D’ye ken?” The coachman threw back his shoulders, showing her what he meant. “He’s not far ahint. Climbing the brig road. A man o’ sixty years, I’d say.”

Gibson.

By the time she reached Shaw’s Close, Marjory was running.

She had not run in many years, but she was running now. Past the houses and the tradesmen and the shops, hearing her sons sing out in rhyme: Cooper, souter, tanner, sawyer, dyer, spinner, potter, saddler. Soon she could see the arch of the East Port, where several men on horseback were entering the town. Behind them came a lone traveler walking at a brisk pace. A man in brown clothing with the carriage of a gentleman.

She could not see his face, but she did not need to.

“Gibson!”

At the sound of her voice, he took off on a run. By the time he reached her, tears were streaming down both their faces.

“Leddy Kerr, Leddy Kerr!” When he held out his arms, she threw herself into his embrace.

“You are safe,” she cried. “You are home.” He smelled of heather and sweat and earth and stream. His beard was ten days grown and his hair matted to his brow. Marjory did not mind, not for a moment.

When he finally released her, his face was ruddy. “I beg yer pardon, mem. I didna mean … I shouldna …”

“I was the brazen one,” she reminded him, making use of her handkerchief. “And I’ll not apologize for a moment.”

Gibson smiled. “Aye, mem.”

She tried not to stare, yet here he was, her beloved servant, standing before her, healthy and whole.

“We’d best go,” he said, “afore the toun folk start to blether.”

Marjory drew him to her side and began walking toward the marketplace. “Let them gossip all they wish. The man I thought was dead is alive and well.”

“Bethankit!” he said, then patted her hand, as he oft did when she took his arm. “I’m only sorry I made ye wait so lang.” His step was light, yet she heard the weariness in his voice. “Whan we reach the hoose,” he promised, “I’ll tell ye what happened to yer auld servant.”

Marjory gently admonished him, “Neil Gibson, you cannot leave me on tenterhooks. Will you not tell me where you’ve been all this time?”

“In Edinburgh, mem.” His blue gray eyes met hers. “Locked inside the tolbooth, chained to the wa’.”





Sixteen

Beware, so long as you live,

of judging men by their outward appearance.

JEAN DE LA FONTAINE



earing his voice on the stair, Elisabeth could not cross the room quickly enough. “Hurry, Cousin!” she cried, flinging open the door. “ ’Tis Gibson!”

Anne was beside her in a trice as Elisabeth clasped Gibson’s hands and pulled him across the threshold. “At last, at last.” She kissed his cheek, her heart filled to overflowing. “We feared we’d never see you again.”

“Aye, weel …” Gibson was clearly embarrassed. “I hope ye’ll not mind the leuk o’ me.”

“Mind?” Elisabeth laughed, a mixture of joy and relief. “After traveling forty miles on foot, you look surprisingly well.” His clothes were rumpled and torn, but such things were easily remedied. “What say you to a comfortable chair and a cup of tea?”

Only then did Elisabeth glance at her mother-in-law, close by his side. Marjory’s color was high, and she was smiling, but her eyes bore a strange light. Something had frightened the woman. Nae, terrified her. Had Gibson come bearing grim tidings?

“What is wrong?” Elisabeth murmured as Marjory eased past her.

Her mother-in-law’s response was cryptic. “You’ll know shortly.”

“Come and sit,” Anne was saying as she lifted Gibson’s leather bag from his shoulders. “You must be exhausted. Can it be ten years since I last saw you? ’Twas at kirk on a Sabbath morn, I’ll wager.”

Gibson eased into one of the upholstered chairs, and Marjory claimed the other while Elisabeth poured his tea from the kettle on the hearth. She placed the wooden cup in his hands, then perched on the creepie, her mourning gown pooling round her feet. “Please, Gibson,” Elisabeth urged him, “tell us what kept you from Annie’s door for so long.”

A cloud moved across his face. “ ’Tis not a bonny tale, but I suppose ye must hear it, as Leddy Kerr already has.” Gibson shifted in his seat, taking care not to spill his tea, while Anne drew her wooden chair nearer. “Ye’ll remember I left Milne Square on a Tuesday,” he began. “Whan I reached the Nether-bow Port, the guard wouldna let me through ’til he’d searched my bag. O’ course, he found Leddy Kerr’s two letters.”

A chill ran down Elisabeth’s spine. “Did the porter not see how harmless those letters were? One for our cousin, requesting lodging. And a written character so you might find a position.”

“He didna open them,” Gibson said evenly. “Instead, a dragoon marched me to the tolbooth on the High Street—”

“Nae!” Elisabeth gasped.

Gibson shrugged in defeat. “They kept me for nigh to a week. Clapped in an iron collar without meat or ale or a fire to keep me warm at nicht.”

Elisabeth felt sick. Poor Gibson, locked in that wretched place! Dark, dirty, and dank, filled with murderers and thieves. When she and Marjory had departed Edinburgh, they’d imagined Gibson well ahead of them, but in fact they’d left him behind.

“I am … so sorry,” she said, ashamed of how inadequate her words sounded. “We were the ones who supported Prince Charlie, not you.”

“But I was the one leaving toun on foot and me not garbed as a servant. The soldiers were certain I was a traitor, carrying messages for the Jacobites.”

Marjory laid her hand on his. “This was all my fault. If you’d traveled with us—”

“Nae, mem.” Gibson shook his head rather vehemently. “Ye’re not to blame.”

Anne’s frustration was thinly veiled. “If they’d simply read those letters, you might’ve been on your way at once.”

“Aye, but it took days for the letters to make their way up to Edinburgh Castle, whaur the governor himself read them.”

Elisabeth frowned. “General Lord Mark Kerr?” A merciless gentleman, despite being a distant relation on her father-in-law’s side. It was Lord Mark who’d penned the terrible missive on behalf of King George, pronouncing their family attainted and their estate forfeited. “But if Lord Mark read the two letters.”

Her voice faded as the truth sank in. He knows where we are.

Now Elisabeth understood the fear she’d seen in her mother-in-law’s eyes, recalling the day a British soldier pounded on their door with the butt of his pistol. What if dragoons appeared at Anne’s house by week’s end? What if they forced the Kerr women to return to Edinburgh—or, worse, travel to London—to face charges of treason? With the Jacobite Rising all but over, who could say what the government might do?

Calm yourself, Bess. No one had come looking for them, not yet. She’d ruin Gibson’s homecoming if she aired such trepidations. “What happened next?”

He exhaled. “Whan they finally set me free, I walked south as fast as ever I could, keeping to the hills and awa from the road, lest the dragoons change their minds and come after me.”

“My faithful Gibson,” Marjory said, patting his arm.

He turned to her, his expression full of apology. “I ken ye needed me here lang afore this, Leddy Kerr. Nae doubt I’ve disappointed ye.”

“You could never disappoint me, Gibson.” Marjory rose with surprising grace, then reached for her apron. “How does mutton broth sound to you?”

He smiled, showing off a fine set of teeth. “Like a dish sent from heiven.”

“I’ll make our Beltane bannock,” Anne declared, returning her chair to the dining table. “I’ve flour, milk, and oatmeal for the baking, with eggs and cream to wash over it.”

Seeing Gibson’s delight at the prospect helped Elisabeth push aside the last of her fears. “You’ve left me little to do but set the table.”

“And finish another shirt for Michael,” Anne said pointedly. Their supply of coins was getting low.

Gibson, meanwhile, was admiring his surroundings. “Ye’ve a fine wee hoose, Miss Kerr.”

“With room for another guest,” Anne said firmly. “We shall all sleep better with a man under our roof.”

Elisabeth shot her a grateful look. “You’ll find our Gibson a welcome addition to the household.”

“He is not to be treated like a manservant,” Marjory cautioned them. “Such days are behind us.”

Gibson made a sound of disapproval, low in his throat. “Ye canna serve me, mem.”

“Oh?” Marjory, busily cutting up turnips, stopped to gaze over her shoulder. “Submit yourselves one to another,” she reminded him. “Or would you argue with the Scriptures?”

“Nae, mem.” His voice softened. “Nor with ye.”

Elisabeth was touched by their warm exchange. Even without her title or fortune, Marjory was, by society’s measure, far above Gibson, who’d been in service the whole of his life and could not read or write. Any public discourse between them would be deeply frowned upon. But within these four walls, their easy banter was further proof of the changes wrought in Marjory’s heart by a loving hand.

An hour later, when the foursome joined round the table for their noontide meal, Marjory invited Gibson to speak the blessing. He balked at first, but Marjory would not take no for an answer. “You are seated at the head,” she reminded him.

When Gibson bowed to pray, Elisabeth saw the faint brown spots on his balding pate and the wreath of silver hair that circled it and thanked the Lord this good man had been spared.

“Almichty God,” he began, “bliss yer servants wha are gathered here. Bliss the broth and bread and the hands that made them. I thank ye for bringing me hame, and I thank ye for them that made me walcome. The grace o’ the Lord Jesus be with ye. Amen, amen.”

All four lifted their heads at the same time and smiled. Home.