Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,2

mounted dragoons galloped down the road, their hoofbeats soon fading.

Both women exhaled and sank back against the worn leather upholstery.

“You were very brave,” Elisabeth said at last.

“Or very foolish.” Marjory pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her damp cheeks. “The next soldiers we meet may not be so easily dissuaded.”

“Indeed.” Elisabeth stretched out her long legs. “Nor so short in stature.”

Marjory glanced at her daughter-in-law’s gown. “Remind me, where are your silk roses?”

“Stitched inside the hem of my petticoat.” A smile played at the corners of Elisabeth’s mouth. “Had the captain examined me further, he’d have found a whole row of Jacobite rosettes. But I spoke the truth when I said I don’t own one.”

Marjory wagged her head. “My clever Bess.”

In years past Marjory had not appreciated her daughter-in-law’s ingenuity, thinking her secretive and untrustworthy. How she’d misjudged her! Though Elisabeth was lowborn and Highland bred, she’d grown into a gentlewoman by any measure, with courage and tenacity to spare. And the lass was only four-and-twenty!

Marjory sighed inwardly. Had she ever been so young?

“ ’Tis good we bade the Hedderwicks farewell in Galashiels,” Elisabeth said. “Had they still been with us, they might have talked themselves into an English prison.”

“Might have?” Marjory scoffed. “I’ve never known two men who spoke more and said less.” The father and son who’d traveled south with them from Edinburgh had boasted endlessly of their Jacobite sympathies, though neither had been willing to bear arms for Prince Charlie.

Unlike my brave sons.

As Marjory tucked her handkerchief inside her sleeve, Donald’s parting words echoed in her heart: May I count on you to look after Elisabeth? Naturally Marjory had promised to do so, never imagining a day when she’d have no home and no gold. How would she look after Elisabeth now?

Gazing upward, Marjory pictured the small, heavy trunk strapped atop the carriage, bearing the massive family Bible with its comforting words: They that seek the LORD shall not want any good thing. Could she trust the Almighty to provide for them? Or would he continue to burden her with further losses? In truth, there was nothing left to take.

When Elisabeth reached out to close the curtain, Marjory stayed her hand. “No need, my dear. The rain has finally stopped.”

Beneath the gray evening sky, a dense mist hovered near the ground, rising and falling like a living creature, giving them brief glimpses of the town above them. Stone houses thatched with straw and sod. Windows lit by candle and hearth.

Elisabeth clasped her hands in her lap, her blue eyes glowing. “I’ve waited a long time to see Selkirk.”

“Too long.” Marjory opened the curtain on her side of the carriage, ushering in what light remained. “Welcome to your new home, Bess.”

Home. Ten years had passed since Marjory had looked upon Selkirk parish. Yet so little had changed. The rolling hills tumbled over one another, forming the grassy banks of the Ettrick Water, swollen from the rain. “More than a thousand souls reside in Selkirk,” she said absently. Would any of them remember her? Extend a hand of greeting? Or, once they heard of her disgrace, would they close their doors, shutting her out of all good society?

Nae. This was her childhood home. Surely she’d find sympathy here.

As they crossed a new stone bridge spanning the Ettrick Water below the mill, Elisabeth gazed up at the sprawling burgh. “ ’Tis larger than I’d imagined. I do hope Gibson had no difficulty locating Cousin Anne.”

“Gibson once lived here,” Marjory reminded her. “He knows where Anne resides.”

Earlier in the week Marjory had sent ahead their butler, Neil Gibson, bearing a letter for their cousin with an urgent request for lodging. Marjory touched the hanging pocket tied round her waist, knowing very well her purse was empty. Hadn’t she bartered her last knife and spoon to purchase their midday meal? They couldn’t pay for a bed at the Forest Inn even for one night. Cousin Anne had to be home, had to make room for them.

The carriage began the precipitous ascent toward the town center, pressing the women back against their seats. Hearing Mr. Dewar urging his team forward, Marjory said, “ ’Tis a long pull for the horses.”

Elisabeth nodded. “And for Gibson. Do you suppose he arrived yesterday?”

“Or this morn.” Marjory felt guiltier with each turn of the carriage wheels. She’d forgotten what a daunting hill this was, especially for a man of sixty after a long journey on foot.

Not many pedestrians were abroad at that hour. A few