Mine Is the Night A Novel

Fifty-One

Who loves

Believes the impossible.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING



s her daughter-in-law crossed the small footbridge heading east, Marjory started for home, putting aside any thoughts of men or marriage in favor of more pressing concerns: breakfast, dinner, and supper. She touched her pocket to be certain she had a coin or two, then made a mental list of what she needed from the market. Cheese, butter, eggs, and milk. Aye, that she could afford.

Weaving between handcarts and pedestrians moving down Kirk Wynd, Marjory slowed as she neared the manse, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gibson through the window. She felt like a lovesick schoolgirl but eyed the house nonetheless, noting the open curtains, the single candle, and the signs of life withindoors.

Certain she had spied his black livery, Marjory paused at the window and smiled, her nose nearly touching the glass. Good morn, dear Gibson.

But it was Reverend Brown, dressed in black, who turned and met her gaze.

Startled, she fell back a step. What must the minister think of her, peering into people’s houses?

A moment later he was standing in the doorway, waving her inside. “Come, Mrs. Kerr. I have been meaning to speak with you.”

Marjory slipped by him as she entered the manse, feeling awkward and ashamed. Gibson, alas, was nowhere in sight. She took the offered seat by the window, keenly aware of how foolish she must have looked tarrying on the other side of the glass.

“Forgive me for intruding,” she began, not knowing how else to phrase it.

“Not at all,” he said gruffly, taking the chair opposite hers. “If you were looking for Gibson, I sent him on an errand, for I cannot bear to venture out during the fair.” He leaned forward, his eyes as sharp as any owl’s. “In the meantime I’ve news of Lord Buchanan that should be of interest to you.”

Her thoughts flew immediately to Elisabeth. “Oh?”

“In truth, his lordship may not be aware of the fact I’m about to share, though I shall inform him at the first opportunity.”

Marjory inched forward on her chair, her curiosity mounting. “And that fact is?”

“Admiral Lord Jack Buchanan is distantly related to Lord John Kerr.”

Marjory swallowed. “To … my late husband?”

“Aye. While reviewing our oldest parish records at the request of the presbytery, I stumbled upon the names Buchanan and Kerr in a marriage entry from the late sixteenth century. To call his lordship your distant cousin would be stretching the truth, but your ancient kinsman he most certainly is.”

“News indeed,” she breathed, trying to grasp what such a connection might mean for her family.

“Madam, I hardly need mention your dire financial needs. Once he is informed of your common ancestry, Lord Buchanan may be moved to …, eh, provide for you and your daughter-in-law.”

“I see.” Marjory pretended to pluck a bit of dust from her black skirts while she searched her conscience. He was a generous man, Lord Buchanan, and would no doubt do his part. But there was more at stake than mere silver or gold. Oh, Bess. Would such provision please you? Or embarrass you? Marjory knew the answer.

She lifted her head. “I wonder, Reverend Brown, if you might delay mentioning this to his lordship.”

He frowned. “But you are the one who’ll benefit. Can you afford to wait?”

“Aye,” Marjory said, “for a few months at least.” Elisabeth was promised employment at Bell Hill through Saint Andrew’s Day. If they could somehow make ends meet until then, neither Lord Buchanan nor Elisabeth would be thrust into a difficult situation. And who knew where their friendship might lead someday? “ ’Tis best left unspoken,” Marjory told him.

The minister held up his hands in surrender. “As you wish, madam. Should you change your mind, I will gladly approach his lordship regarding this … obligation.”

Hearing the word, Marjory was certain of her decision. Friendship and obligation were not well met.

As she prepared to leave, Reverend Brown cleared his throat. “Madam, you and I discussed another matter of some urgency in late May. Perhaps you recall the subject.”

Gibson. “Indeed I do, sir.”

“May I be so bold as to inquire where things stand with you and my manservant?”

She moistened her parched lips. “Stand?”

“I believe I stated my objections quite clearly. And yet I hear your name pouring from Gibson’s lips, and see you sitting together at services, and find you peering through my window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a man who served you for thirty years. Where is this leading, Mrs. Kerr?”

With each phrase his voice had grown more strident. By the time he reached her name, Marjory was on her feet. Trembling, aye, but standing.

She kept her voice at an even pitch, though she longed to match his volume note for note. “May I remind you, sir, I am an independent woman. Of limited means, aye, but beholden to no man. You’ll not find the name Kerr on the parish’s poor roll nor a beggar’s badge pinned to my gown.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Kerr,” he said, shaking his gray head. “I am merely concerned lest you lose your place in society—”

“My place?” She threw up her hands in frustration. “Reverend Brown, I no longer have a place. What I have are dear friends, who take me as I am.” The truth of her words rang inside her like a bell, clear and strong. “You asked me where things stand with Neil Gibson. They stand very well, sir. I thank you for your interest.”

Marjory wanted to stride from the room, her skirts slapping about her ankles, but a show of pique would accomplish nothing. Furthermore, Reverend Brown was Gibson’s employer and their parish minister and so deserved her respect.

Help me, Lord. Help me do what I must.

Bowing her head, she eased into a curtsy, deeper than required, and did not rise until peace reigned once more in her heart.

When she lifted her head and their eyes met, she found the words she wanted to say. “Reverend Brown, you once promised to show me God’s mercy, and indeed you have. Now I ask only for a small measure of happiness, no greater than the widow’s farthing.”

The minister placed a withered hand on each shoulder. “Mrs. Kerr, I see that your mind is fixed on this course. How you and Mr. Gibson will navigate these waters, I cannot say. But whatever God joins, I’ll not put asunder. Go, now, for I’ve kept you long enough.”

“Bless you,” she whispered and turned for the door, thinking only of Gibson. Eager to find him. Eager to tell him. All is well. God is with us.

A moment later Marjory found herself in Kirk Wynd, still reeling from the minister’s unexpected benediction. He seemed willing to admit the Almighty might have brought them together. Can it be true, Lord? Is this your hand at work? Do you mean for this good man to be mine?

When she looked up and saw Neil Gibson walking toward her, all her questions were answered. Aye, aye, aye. Marjory reached out, beckoning him forward.

He offered a gentleman’s bow, then clasped her hands. “Have ye come leuking for me, Leddy Kerr?”

“I’ve much to tell you,” she began, “but we cannot meet at Anne’s house, with Peter due for his morning visit.”

“And we canna speak at the manse,” Gibson said. “Nor may we stand in the mercat place with the whole toun watching.”

“To kirk then.” Marjory was already starting uphill. “On a Friday ’tis sure to be empty.”

They slipped through the narrow pend and across the grassy kirkyard, then pulled open the door, cringing when the rust-covered hinges cried out in protest. Leaving behind the forenoon sun, they stepped inside the shadowy interior, cool and still.

“A bit gloomy,” Gibson murmured, “but at least we have it to ourselves.” He walked Marjory down the aisle, her hand tucked round his arm, then brushed clean the Kerr pew and seated her like landed gentry come to church.

Marjory waited until he sat down, her heart beating so hard against her stays she was not certain she could breathe, let alone speak. When she turned to him, their knees almost touched. When he took her ungloved hands in his, she thought she might faint.

“Gibson, I—”

“Neil,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off hers. “ ’Tis time ye called me by my given name.”

Neil, my dear Neil. Could she say it aloud without blushing? “Neil,” she finally managed. “And you must call me Marjory.”

He smiled at that. “I’ve called ye Marjory in my heart syne I first clapped eyes on ye in May. Whan ye pressed yer wee head against my neck and told me, ‘Ye’re hame.’ I canna tell ye what that meant to me.”

Overcome with emotion, she bowed her head and whispered, “And to me.”

He gently lifted her chin. “Dinna hide from me, lass.”

“Lass? I’m hardly a girl—”

“Wheesht!” he said with a low chuckle. “Ye’re a lass from whaur I’m sitting.” He lightly kissed the back of her hand, then said, “Noo, what was it ye were so keen to tell me?”

She described her meeting with Reverend Brown, leaving out any mention of Lord Buchanan for the moment, and watched Neil’s expressions change with each revelation.

“So, ’tis only a sma’ measure o’ happiness ye’re wanting?” Neil teased her. “Nae mair than a farthing’s worth?”

“You know me very well,” she reminded him. “Am I a woman who settles for so little?”

“I’ve niver seen ye do so,” he agreed, looking more serious. “ ’Tis why I must ask if ye’re sure … if ye’re verra sure …”

“That you’ll make me happy?” When he nodded, she looked into his eyes lest she lose her courage. “Neil Gibson, I cannot imagine a future without you at the center of it.”

“Och, Marjory.” He hung his head, clasping her hands tightly in his as if he might never let go. “Ye ken I have naught to offer ye. Not a hame, nor a horse, nor a purse full o’ guineas. And I dare not ask for yer hand ’til I do.”

“My dear Gibson …” She caught herself. “Neil … I have no such expectations.”

He lifted his head. “But I do.” His eyes shone like candles in the murky sanctuary. “D’ye remember me saying in Edinburgh, ‘Ye’ll aye be Leddy Kerr to me’?”

“I remember it well.” So very well.

“A leddy like ye deserves a’ the best the world has to offer. I’ll not see ye go without because o’ me.”

When he started to release her, Marjory drew him closer instead. “Listen to me, Neil Gibson. Possessions mean nothing to me now. Surely you, of all people, know that.”

“Aye, but—”

“The Buik tells us only faith, hope, and charity truly matter.” She lifted his hands, his strong, callused hands, praying as she did. “My faith has been renewed,” she assured him, gently kissing one hand. “My hope has been restored,” she promised, kissing the other. “And my regard for you is certain.”

When he smiled, she caught a glimpse of the darling boy of ten he’d surely been. And of the strapping lad of twenty, who must have stolen every maidservant’s heart. And of the handsome man of forty, who’d served her at Tweedsford. But none could match the mature man who sat beside her now, with love in his eyes and laughter in the curve of his mouth.

“I canna see my way through just noo,” he confessed to her, “but if the Almichty means for us to be thegither, then thegither we shall be.” He kissed each hand, as she’d kissed his, then slowly stood, drawing her to her feet. “ ’Tis time I walked ye hame.”

She started up the aisle with him, in no hurry to leave their quiet sanctuary. “I can only imagine what Reverend Brown will say when you return.”

After a moment Neil said, “He’s a guid man, wha cares about his flock. As it happens, the reverend and I have a surprise for ye, though ’twill have to wait ’til Michaelmas.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “We’ve much to look forward to this autumn. Anne and Michael’s marriage, of course, and Lord Buchanan’s return from the Highlands. I do hope he’ll not be delayed. ’Twould be a shame for him to miss Annie’s wedding.”