Chapter 6
Wednesday, 17 June, 1685
Lily had not slept. At home in bed, with Bessie at her side, she’d tried to raise from memory all her father’s words of comfort. He had said them only hours ago at Captain Graeme’s house and yet already they were losing force, so Lily brought them to her mind repeatedly, that she would not forget what he had told her: “Be a good girl, mind your prayers, and ye will see me, by and by.”
And so she prayed, in a small whisper, being careful not to wake the others, that God would watch over him and bring him safely home.
When she’d been very small, he had been called away to fight the covenanting rebels once, with Jamie’s father—back when Jamie’s father had been a lieutenant colonel in the army, and not captain of the Edinburgh town guard—and although the fighting had been fierce, both men had been returned from it unharmed.
She had faith the same would happen now, if she did as her father asked—if she was good, and prayed. And yet, she could not lose the sense that something was yet left undone this time, about his leaving.
It worried her all morning, even after she had risen and begun her daily work, but she said not a word to Jean, because it seemed to Lily that Jean also had not slept well and was weary, and Jean’s forehead bore the lines that meant her head was aching.
Lily did not wish to be the cause of any trouble. She kept quiet, did her chores, and tried to bury her misgivings.
Then, not long past midday, came their visitors.
The Laird of Abercairney’s lady—Robin Moray’s mother—was a graceful woman with a slender figure and fine clothes to show it to advantage. Today she wore a gown that Lily had not seen before, of deep blue silk so dark that it was nearly black, her skirts protected by a pretty apron edged with lace. There was lace also on the cap she wore tied over her brown hair that had been artfully arranged in curls that massed around her temples and were elsewhere gathered, leaving one long ringlet, tied with ribbon, hanging past her shoulder.
She was Jamie’s father’s sister and, from all accounts, the favorite daughter of the old Laird of Inchbrakie, and since Lily did admire both those men, it had been easy to extend that admiration to the Laird of Abercairney’s lady, who could reason with the cleverness of Captain Graeme, and had the old laird’s kind eyes.
A lady of her quality arriving at their door in Kinloch’s Close was an occasion, apparently. Some of their neighbors had gathered to gawk.
As Jean opened the door, Lily spotted the face of the violer’s wife and shrank back out of sight. It was very unsettling, the way that the violer’s wife looked at all of them. When Lily’s father’s friends from the town guard had been here these past days helping to watch over them, they’d talked to the violer’s wife sometimes; told her to keep away.
But those men weren’t here this morning.
The violer’s wife called out, loudly, “May God damn his soul!”
Robin’s mother, just crossing the threshold, turned fully to face her, making her elegant body a shield for Jean, Lily and Bessie and baby James. Calmly, she said, “There are children here.”
Lily heard the sound of shuffling from the close. And silence.
Robin’s mother said, “Shame on ye all. Go home.” Then turning again, she stepped into their house.
She had brought Robin with her, and a somber, heavy-featured man whose name went by too quickly in the introductions for Lily to make note of it beyond the fact they’d called him Mr. Somebody, and he had brought a Bible with him, carried in his hand with care, which meant he was a minister.
Lily would have wished for Jamie, too, to keep her company, but he felt ill, so she was told. “We are not any of us feeling well at heart, this day,” was Robin’s mother’s explanation, making Lily wonder whether Jamie’s father had been called to war along with hers, and who would stay and guard the town when all the soldiers were away.
Those worries joined the others in her busy mind.
It was, from the beginning, a perplexing visit. Jean, instead of setting out refreshments for their guests, retreated privately into the farther corner with the minister and knelt with him, and prayed. This went on for so long that wee James began to fuss, and Robin’s mother took him from the bed and carried him about as if it were quite natural for visitors and bairns to be ignored in such a manner.
Robin had brought games with him—a spinning top, and knucklebones—to Bessie’s great delight. But Lily did not join them in their play, and even watching them, her thoughts were turned to other things.