Here Burns My Candle Part 40

Janet cleared her throat. "You cannot lose what you never had."

Marjory's heart skipped a beat. "Whatever do you mean, Janet?"

"Only this." Janet lifted her head. Her eyes were dry. "The last night my husband and I were...together, I told him I was carrying his child". And I might have been. That is ... it was not entirely a fabrication ...

Marjory stared at her, speechless.

"I thought if I were expecting it might change his mind about going off with the prince." Janet sighed, letting go of Marjory's hand. "Obviously my little ploy didn't work."

"You lied... to Andrew? To all of us?"

"Well..." Janet flapped her hand about. "Don't women sometimes think they are with child and then realize they are not?"

"Aye, but..." Tears stung her eyes. There will not be a child. I will not be a grandmother. "Why did you not tell us when you realized... when you knew?"

Janet had the decency to blush. "I confess I rather liked playing the expectant mother. Everyone fusses over you and brings you wee treats. You can nap whenever you please and have breakfast at noontide. I kept meaning to tell everyone...well, at least to tell you... but the time never seemed right. Until today, when something had to be said."

"I see." Marjory was undone. That such a woman lived under her roof and ate at her table and shared her son's bed was beyond comprehension. A year ago she'd thought her a fine prize for Andrew. Now she knew Janet Murray had been no prize at all.

Her daughter-in-law stood, sighing as if a great burden had been lifted. "I'm afraid you'll have to straighten out Rob MacPherson before he tells someone. It won't do to have the neighborhood minding my waistline."

Marjory watched her quit the room without a backward glance. Only then did she quietly grieve for the grandchild she'd lost yet never had. She dabbed at her eyes, grateful no one came looking for her. They might think her daft or weak, and she could not afford to be either. Not when she needed to be wise in her husband's stead and strong for her sons.

The first day of this dreaded month and already fear and disappointment had been heaped at her door. None but the Almighty knew what else January might hold.

Sixty-Two.

'Tis winter, yet there is no sound

Along the air

Of winds along their battle-ground.

RALPH HOYT.

A storm was brewing to the south. At three o' the clock on Friday the seventeenth, the sky was gunmetal gray tinged with purple. It was not cold enough to snow but cold enough, with a stiff wind rattling the panes. Elisabeth gazed down at the High Street, emptier than she'd seen it in days. Townsfolk scurried across the plainstanes, looking over their shoulders, not stopping to chat with neighbors. Frightened.

Elisabeth now had a faint idea of what imprisonment felt like. Although their house at Milne Square bore no resemblance to a squalid tolbooth, she'd spent the last fortnight behind a locked stair door, neither coming nor going, while Edinburgh played host to their enemy.

After menacing the town for a week, General Hawley and his royalist troops had departed through the West Port earlier that week, bound for Linlithgow. Farther west, outside of Falkirk, the prince and his Highland army lay in wait. "Mair than eight thousand strong," Rob had said with pride, their numbers having grown since their return to Scotland. Elisabeth hoped they were very strong indeed since a new wooden gallows stood in the Gra.s.smarket, compliments of Hangman Hawley, the name his own men whispered behind his back.

Voices drew Elisabeth's attention to the entrance hall, where her mother-in-law was upset about something. Janet, seated by the fire, looked up as well.

"You must find us more candles." Marjory was pleading with Gibson as if he were h.o.a.rding them beneath his thin mattress.

"Mr. Herriot willna sell them to me." Gibson sounded forlorn. "Nor will Mr. Watson o' Libberton's Wynd."

Barbara Inglis lives there.

Elisabeth tried to brush away such thoughts as quickly as they surfaced, but they soon returned. Knowing the names and addresses of all Donald's conquests had begun to color her view of Edinburgh. The closes and wynds she'd traveled for many seasons had a different feeling about them. Warriston's Close was no longer the home of her favorite baker, Mr. Orr, with his b.u.t.tery caraway buns; now Warriston's Close was where Susan McGill lived.

Marjory asked, "Have you tried Mr. Sprott of Blackfriars Wynd?"

Janet was across the room and standing by Gibson's side in a trice. "I have oft given Mr. Sprott my custom," she said with a confident toss of her hair. "If I go with you, we'll come home with candles."

Marjory frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise. Mr. MacPherson cautioned us against leaving the house."

"Oh, but most of Hawley's men are gone," Janet said with a careless shrug. "Anyway, 'tis not far to Mr. Sprott's. And with Gibson by my side, you've no need for concern."

Elisabeth moved toward them, a knot of fear tightening inside her. She knew Janet was weary of being withindoors, just as she was. But the king's soldiers were still patrolling the High Street. Furthermore, they'd identified every Jacobite household and were ruthless in their search for spies and informants. Janet was neither, of course, but suspicion alone could land her in the tolbooth.

'Twas too great a risk.

Seeing Janet reach for her cape, Elisabeth acted quickly. "What if you sent a note with Gibson instead? Your words alone might prompt Mr. Sprott to accept our s.h.i.+llings."

"A woman can be far more persuasive in person." Janet's mind was clearly made up. Her cape was already settled round her shoulders. "If you've s.h.i.+llings in your pocket, Gibson, I am ready."

Elisabeth tried again. "Could we not wait and ask Mr. MacPherson to help us?"

"We have but two candles left," Marjory explained, "and Mr. MacPherson has not been to see us in days. He may very well have joined his father at Falkirk. I'm afraid we must do what we can, Lady Kerr." She placed two s.h.i.+llings in Gibson's weathered hand. "Bring back four pounds of tallow candles. And take good care of my son's wife."

Janet, looking pleased with herself, led the way across the threshold. She and Gibson soon disappeared round the curve in the stair.

Marjory bolted the door behind them, then turned to Elisabeth. "You are unhappy with me for letting her go."

"Nae," Elisabeth a.s.sured her. "Janet was determined to leave no matter what anyone said."

"Perhaps you are right." Marjory sighed, tightening the strings of her leather purse. "As you often are, my dear."

After nearly four months without Donald and Andrew beneath their roof, Elisabeth had watched each woman's distinct personality emerge. Marjory gave in to Janet too easily, and Janet never gave in at all. The role of peacemaker had fallen to Elisabeth just as it had when she lived at Mrs. Sinclair's boarding school.

Seeing her mother-in-law's troubled expression, Elisabeth asked, "Might I read to you?" On Monday last Marjory had pressed some of her precious s.h.i.+llings into Gibson's hand and sent him to Mr. Creech, the bookseller, to purchase a replacement for Donald's ruined copy of The Seasons.

She handed Elisabeth the book from the mantelpiece. "When my son returns home, he will be heartbroken to find his library gone."

Nae, he will be furious. "Which of the seasons shall I read?" Elisabeth asked.

"Not Winter," Marjory said firmly. "Give me a taste of Spring, and let me pretend it is not the middle of January."

They sat together on the sofa, which was drawn close to the fire. Elisabeth positioned the candlestand so she might read the tiny print. Marjory could not afford the larger copy with its fine leather binding and settled instead for a clothbound edition hardly bigger than a deck of playing cards.

Elisabeth gazed at the opening page. Aye, here was the needed respite.

Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come,

And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,

While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower

Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

When Elisabeth paused, Marjory said, "Did I tell you James Thomson was schooled in nearby Jedburgh? His mother, Beatrix, once told me her son spent each New Year's Day burning most of his writing from the year past." A ghost of a smile flitted across Marjory's features. "I don't suppose we could convince our Janet to do the same with her poetry?"

An unexpected knock sounded on the stair door. Three sharp raps, then two: Rob MacPherson's signal.

Elisabeth put aside The Seasons and hastened to greet him. When she reached the entrance hall, Mrs. Edgar was already pulling open the door to usher him within.

"Leddy Kerr." His countenance matched the darkening clouds beyond their windows. "News from Falkirk." He strode into the drawing room, his greatcoat flapping about his boots. "Mrs. Kerr will want to hear this as weel."

"She's not here," Elisabeth told him. When she explained where Janet had gone and why, Rob's sullen mood did not improve.

"Have I not made clear the danger ye're in whan ye leave this hoose?"

"Aye," Marjory a.s.sured him, "but we're in need of candles, and Janet thought...well..."

"I'll see that ye have a stone o' candles come the morn."

"Bless you," Marjory said. If accepting a tradesman's help chafed at her sensibilities, she kept it well hidden.

"The news, then." Rob did not take off his hat or gloves nor take an offered chair. "General Hawley is at Callendar Hoose near Falkirk, whaur the guid Lady Kilmarnock is busy keeping the man from his duties for King Geordie. Meanwhile, the Jacobites had a council o' war and determined to fight Hawley's troops. And the toun folk have filled the streets o' Falkirk as if 'twere a mercat day, thinking to watch the battle."

Elisabeth's heart pounded, imagining the scene. "Are they fighting even as we speak?"

Rob's gaze was even. "I canna say, leddies. The news is cauld lang afore it reaches Edinburgh. But, aye, 'twould seem this is the day, mebbe even the hour. Ye can be certain the prince and his men are ready. The last I heard from my faither, yer lads were in guid health and prepared to fight."

Without thinking, Elisabeth reached for Marjory's hand. Her mother-in-law returned her tight clasp. "Promise you will come at once when you know the outcome?"

"Depend upon it, guid news or ill." Rob glanced at the windows facing the square. "At the moment I'm bound for Blackfriars Wynd to see Mrs. Kerr safely home." With that, he was gone as abruptly as he'd come.

Standing in the quiet house, listening to the bl.u.s.tery wind, Elisabeth released Marjory's hand with a light squeeze and asked, "Would a cup of tea help?"

"It might." Her mother-in-law met her gaze as if truly seeing her rather than looking past her. "At least 'twill keep our hands warm and our minds occupied."

Mrs. Edgar brought them a proper tea, including cream and saffron cakes, served on mismatched china cups and plates rescued from a wooden kist. With fewer plenis.h.i.+ngs and no bed curtains, Marjory's bedchamber sounded almost hollow. The clink of cup and saucer, the stirring spoon, the fork against the china, all were more noticeable. Neither woman had much to say, and their eyes were repeatedly drawn to the threatening sky.

When the clock struck half past four, Marjory jumped at the sound and dropped her fork on the plate with a terrible clatter. With a soft cry, she leaned back, one hand on her heart. "However will I keep my wits about me through the evening?"

"I imagine 'twill be the morn before we hear any news," Elisabeth said, wis.h.i.+ng it were not so. The battle at Gladsmuir had lasted a mere quarter hour. But twice as many men were gathered at Falkirk. The conflict might last for hours, even days.

Darkness was upon them. The first drops of rain had just begun splattering against the window when they heard Gibson's voice at the door. Both women hurried to the entrance hall and found the manservant distraught and Rob grim and silent.

Janet was the color of fine sifted flour.

"Whatever has happened?" Elisabeth asked her as gently as she could.

"A dragoon...pulled me...against a wall. But he...Mr. MacPherson..." With a moan Janet collapsed into Elisabeth's arms.

"Oh, my dear!" Elisabeth tried to support her, but her sister-in-law's limp body was too heavy for her. "Mr. MacPherson, if you will ..."

"I have her." Rob lifted Janet with ease and carried her to her bedchamber, with the household on his heels.

Mrs. Edgar took charge at once, tucking extra pillows beneath Janet's head and slipping off her shoes. The housekeeper soon had a cool, damp cloth on Janet's forehead and a cup of water pressed to her lips. "She'll be needing air," Mrs. Edgar said pointedly.

Rob inclined his head toward the kitchen. "'Tis best if we speak elsewhere."

A moment later Marjory and Elisabeth were standing with him in the warmest corner of the house. Rob addressed their concerns at once. "She wasna harmed, merely frightened, and I canna blame her. Whan I found them, a dragoon had pushed Gibson to the ground, and Mrs. Kerr... weel, she told ye herself." A tremor moved across his broad shoulders. "'Twas guid I arrived whan I did. Onie later..."

Marjory did not look down quickly enough to hide her dismay. "However can we thank you?"

"I ken 'tis difficult, but if ye'll stay withindoors-"

"We will," Elisabeth pledged. "After all, we cannot expect you to watch over us every hour."

Rob's gaze was steady. "I'd gladly do sae, Leddy Kerr."