‘I did hear that he was well enough to tell old Mrs Robinson to mind her own affairs.’
The elder Mrs Kerr said, ‘Oh aye? When was this?’
‘Two days ago, or three, I am not certain. But I have been told that Mrs Robinson did call upon the widow McClelland, to tell her that keeping a man in her house, kin or no, was inviting a scandal.’
‘Oh aye.’ The older woman sniffed. ‘’Twas likely envy, for I cannot call to mind that Mrs Robinson did ever keep a man in her own house besides her husband, and he was not much to sing about.’
Sophia smiled privately as Mr Kerr said, ‘Mother!’ and the older woman waved him off and carried on, ‘So Mr McClelland…what name does he go by?’
‘’Tis David, I think,’ said young Mrs Kerr.
‘So then David McClelland was not pleased to have such advice?’
‘Not at all.’ And the young woman smiled as well. ‘I am told he has neither the amiable looks nor the soft-spoken ways of his brother. He told Mrs Robinson straight out that those who saw sin in his sister-in-law must carry sin in their own hearts, to color their view.’
The older woman’s mouth twitched. ‘Did he, indeed?’
‘Aye. And then he suggested she be on her way.’
‘That will make him no friends,’ was the dour Mrs Kerr’s observation. ‘Still, I must say for my own part this does make me view him favorably. I do prefer a person who defends a woman’s honor over one who seeks to stain it. But,’ she said, ‘if you should have the chance this afternoon, you might wish to tell the young widow McClelland more gently to look to appearances, for she is not wise to put her mourning off so soon. A wife should mourn her husband properly.’
Sophia felt another stab of sorrow near her heart. The food left on her plate had lost all its appeal, and had no taste. She tried to eat it, but the effort was so slight that even Mr Kerr took note.
‘Why, Mistress Paterson, are you not well?’
She raised a hand to shield her eyes. ‘I have a dreadful headache. Do forgive me,’ she excused herself, and grateful for the chance to leave the table made her way upstairs.
She was not made to go to kirk that afternoon. She heard the others leaving while she lay upon her bed, dry-eyed, and mourned the only way she could, in private. But that too was interrupted by a knocking at her door.
Sophia answered, dull, ‘Come in.’
The maid who entered was, though young, as unlike Kirsty in her manner as could be—head down and timid and not wanting to be spoken to. There was no question here of making friends among the servants, they kept closely to themselves. Sophia often longed for Kirsty’s laughter, and their walks and talks and confidences. Kirsty would have cheered her now, and drawn the curtains wide to let the light in, but the maid here only stood inside the door and said, ‘Beg pardon, Mistress, but there’s someone come to see you.’
Sophia did not look around. ‘Do give them my apologies. I am not well.’ It would most likely only be some prying neighbor who had seen that she was not in kirk, and wished to know the reason why. She’d had her share of visitors these past months, all curious to view this new young stranger in their midst who’d lived so openly with Jacobites. Like the young widow McClelland, Sophia had been offered much advice as to how to conduct herself, and she had listened and smiled and endured. But today she was not in the mood for it.
Still the maid hovered. ‘I told him so, Mistress, but he seemed quite sure you’d be wanting to see him. He said he was kin.’
Sophia rolled over at that, for she could not think who…？ ‘Did he give you his name?’
‘He did not.’
With a frown, she rose slowly and smoothed out her gown. As she went down the stairs she could hear someone moving around in the front room, the leisurely steps of a man wearing boots. Either he—or more likely the maid— had been careful to leave the door standing fully open to the entry hall, mindful of the fact that there was no one in the house to serve as chaperone, but because he had crossed to stand before the mantelpiece she did not see him until she had stepped into the room.
He had his back to her, head angled slightly while he took a close look at the paintings done in miniature that hung upon the wall, his stance and manner so like Moray’s that the memory tugged again a little painfully before Sophia caught herself and realized who it was. She gave a happy cry of recognition, and as Colonel Graeme turned she gave no thought to what was proper, only rushed across the room into his hard embrace.