The Border Trilogy (22 page)

The ewerer approached with two. assistants. While the first held the basin, he poured rose water over her hands, after which the second assistant handed her a verbena-scented linen cloth to dry them. Then they passed on to perform the same service for Douglas, and Mary Kate turned her attention to the table.

Square wooden trenchers marked each place. Most of the plate was pewter, though the great salt at his lordship’s right hand and the spoons at each place were silver. Other beautiful silver pieces gleamed from the sideboards where they rested in anticipation of a feast-day. Huge platters of food already sat steaming upon the table, while others waited upon the dresser and sideboards to be served later. The carver, a leather case of knives attached to his girdle, stood poised behind Lord Strachan’s chair. Once grace had been said, he stepped forward, swept away the small white cloth before his lordship, and with a grand flourish raised up the two long carving knives thus revealed. Using one to steady the joint, he sliced dexterously, removing the juicy slices to a platter as he worked.

Saucers of cameline and yellow sauce were set between alternate places for dipping the roasted meat, and Mary Kate either helped herself from dishes shared by her husband or was served by him. Musicians played softly from the window embrasure, and servants hovered throughout the meal, attempting to anticipate demands before they were made. Thus, when Mary Kate began daintily to lick her fingers before wiping them upon the napkin tied around her neck, one of the ewerer’s minions sprang forward with a lave cloth. She smiled her thanks.

Another lad circulated with a basin into which the bones from various dishes were tossed. In the great hall with its rush-strewn floor, the custom still prevailed of tossing such bones and other bits to the floor, where they were pounced upon by the dogs almost before they landed. But here in the winter parlor, where the family took its meals, Lady Strachan had fixed upon the more civilized practice in order to spare her lovely carpets. Her new daughter approved.

Dish succeeded dish, saucers were replenished before they had been emptied, and French wines flowed freely, attended by the butler, who changed their glasses each time he poured. Although it was a light supper of only two courses, there was a wide selection of foods, and despite the number of attendants, conversation flourished.

Lady Somerville dominated the conversation, and it seemed to Mary Kate that she began every sentence with, “Adam, do you remember…” or perhaps, when she exerted herself to include Douglas’s wife, “Have you ever told Mary Kate about the time you and I…” At first, Mary Kate attempted to take part in the discussion, but she was never allowed much more than an interested noise or two before the others plunged deeper into their reminiscences. Ned Lumsden did ask her at one point to tell them something about her own childhood, but she had scarcely begun to speak when her words reminded Lady Somerville of a humorous anecdote, which she at once began to relate to the others. Ned winked impudently from across the table, but although the gesture cheered her momentarily, Mary Kate made no further effort to join the general conversation.

Douglas became so engrossed in his cousin’s tales that he absentmindedly stabbed at the stewed mutton with his dagger without looking, and narrowly missed slicing his wife’s fingers as they dipped into the same dish. He did not hear her low cry as she snatched her hand away, but a sharp reproof from his father instantly reclaimed his notice, and he apologized profusely before returning his attention to his cousin.

Finally, the table was cleared of the second course, the grease-stained surcloth was removed, and the ewerer and his helpers stepped forward again. While the butler prepared mugs of steaming spiced wine, other servants brought in the banquet, or sweet course, which consisted of plates of gingerbread, spiced fruits, and sugared delicacies. These were set upon the table along with a saucer of damson marmalade. Mary Kate refused the gingerbread but helped herself to a candied primrose from the sugar plate just as Lady Strachan announced her plan for a small gathering to take place at Strachan Court at the end of the following week, several days before the entire family would depart for Edinburgh.

“I have sent out invitations to a number of our friends,” she said with her gentle smile. “No one from any great distance, of course, but there are a good number of people nearby who will wish to make your acquaintance, my dear. There will be feasting and dancing—disapproved of, I am certain, by our Calvinistic neighbors—but I know that music and dancing are beloved by the highlanders, and I want you young people to enjoy yourselves. You are to make one of the family that night, Ned,” she added with a challenging sidelong glance at his lordship. “’Twill be an excellent opportunity for you to accustom yourself to being a guest rather than a secretary.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Just see to it that you behave yourself, lad,” growled his mentor, but Ned only grinned at him.

When they adjourned at last to the great chamber, Mary Kate was astonished to see her husband pick up a lute and begin to pluck away at it with the skill of a strolling troubadour. He made himself comfortable on a low stool near the roaring fire and called to Lady Somerville to name him a tune.

Uh, Adam, she retorted, laughing, you will be sorry you asked. You must know by now that my favorite is ‘The Gaberlunzie man’—all ten verses of it!”

“Well, you must let me practice a while before I attempt so ambitious a song. What about you, lass?” He smiled at his wife.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“You know now,” he said. “What would you like to hear?”

“I like ballads, or perhaps something sad. ‘Bide Ye Yet,’ or ‘Here Awa’.’ I also like ‘The Gaberlunzie Man,’” she added, “though it is rather long.”

“Good enough.” He strummed idly for a moment or two, accustoming himself to the instrument, and then began to sing a love ballad, his voice a melodious bass. A few moments later, lost in the music, Mary Kate was startled when Annie Jardine appeared at her shoulder to ask if she needed anything. She sent for her embroidery. Lady Strachan was also occupied with her needlework, and his lordship soon bore young Lumsden off to the bookroom, while Megan displayed interest only in the music. Invited to join in the singing, she consented immediately, and ‘The Gaberlunzie Man’ was performed at last, as a duet.

Mary Kate found herself growing restless midway through the song. Somehow King James V’s tale of the beggar who ran off with the landlady’s daughter had lost its appeal, and when Megan sent a servant to fetch her music books, Mary Kate stifled a yawn.

“You must sing with us, Mary Kate,” the older girl said sweetly. “I am certain I can find a part for you in several songs. I have three books of printed music for the lute, thanks to Uncle’s penchant for collecting such things.”

“I do not doubt it, Lady Somerville,” replied Mary Kate politely, “but I fear I have an indifferent voice. ’Twould be a pity to inflict it upon your pleasant harmony.”

“Nonsense,” said Megan, smiling. “Despite the efforts of the reformed kirk, everyone sings, and particularly, as my aunt said earlier, everyone in the highlands. One still has music for dinner, music for supper, music for weddings, and music for funerals. Tinkers sing as they mend their pots, milkmaids sing ballads, and even beggars have their special songs. When I think how my father moaned about the expense of my lessons—not just for singing and playing, of course, but for dancing, too—I simply cannot believe you do not sing perfectly well.”

“Well, I do not wish to sing tonight,” Mary Kate said flatly.

“She would prefer to tend to her stitching,” said Douglas with a chuckle. “Otherwise it will be Christmas afore that lace ruff is done.” He then proceeded, to Mary Kate’s acute embarrassment, to relate the tale of the tapestry bellpull. Megan was still chuckling when her music arrived. Soon she and Douglas had their heads together over the pages, trying first one air and then the next, their singing interwoven with seemingly endless reminiscences. It seemed to Mary Kate that they spoke in a sort of code, as much in half-sentences and gestures as in proper English words, often thinking of the same thing at the same time and laughing, having no need to go into detail and never thinking to do so merely for her benefit.

Finally, stifling another yawn, she set her work aside and looked for Annie Jardine. The maidservants had set up game tables in the window embrasure at the far end of the room and some were engaged in quiet games of Irish and draughts, while others plied their needles. Mary Kate signed to Annie, who arose from her seat immediately and crossed the room.

“Aye, mistress?”

Mary Kate spoke in low tones so as not to interrupt the others. “I wish to retire in a few moments, Annie, and I shall want a hot bath if you can arrange for one.

Annie didn’t blink at the strange request but bobbed her sprightly curtsy and set off to see to it. There was a pause in the music, and Mary Kate turned to her husband’s mother, who was still working neat stitches into the linen stretched on her tambour frame.

“My lady, will you think me churlish if I beg to be excused? Or must I wait for prayers?” she added, uncertain as to the prevailing custom at Strachan Court.

Lady Strachan said serenely, “You may do as you please, my dear, and I shall think nothing about it. Our Ned reads a chapter of the Bible to the servants each night, so that we are in compliance with the law, but for the most part we still hold by the old traditions. Here in the borders, change comes slowly and with great resistance. I, too, shall retire soon,” she added, “and Megan will attend me.”

Mary Kate smiled. She had wondered if Lady Somerville would dare to outstay her hostess. Evidently, she would not be given that opportunity. And it was interesting, too, she thought, to learn that some matters were the same here as they were at home. She knew that Douglas had done nothing to comply with the General Assembly’s recent decree regarding daily prayer, but she had not thought about it before now for the simple reason that when the news had reached the highlands that every landowner must own a Bible and a psalm book and must read daily from it in the vulgar tongue for his household’s edification, the notion had been laughed to scorn by the highlanders.

When she arose and bade the others good night, her husband shot her a quizzical glance but said nothing other than that he would be along soon.

“You need not hurry, sir,” she replied calmly. “I am going to have a bath.”

“A bath?” Megan was astonished. “You will catch your death, Mary Kate.” Even Lady Strachan was surprised.

“Nonsense,” Mary Kate said, enjoying the small sensation she had created. “A hot bath relaxes me before I sleep. There is no danger so long as the tub is well draped and I keep a fire going, and Annie will see to that.”

Her husband, knowing that she indulged herself in a bath at least once every sennight, grinned at her. After observing to the others that at least she did not follow the financially ruinous example set by the late Queen Mary and bathe in wine, he demanded that his cousin return her attention to the music.

Later he entered his wife’s bedchamber unannounced to find her wrapped in a voluminous night-robe, seated upon a stool with her back to the fire while Annie brushed her hair. Mary Kate’s cheeks glowed from the warmth, and her eyes lit at the sight of him. The canopy curtains had been removed, and two sturdy menservants were emptying her tub. Douglas waited only until they had departed before ordering Annie to bed.

Annie, having known him from childhood, looked calmly to her mistress for confirmation of the order.

“Aye, Annie, go to bed,” Mary Kate said. “My hair is nearly dry now.”

“Give me that hairbrush, Annie. I can do it.”

She gave it to him with a smile and took her leave.

Douglas drew the brush gently through the silky red-gold curls, watching the firelight play upon the strands as they freed themselves from the bristles and floated back into place. Except for the rhythmic hushing of the brush strokes and the crackle of the fire, there was silence until at last he spoke.

“You were quiet tonight, lassie.”

“Was I?”

“Aye.” He set the brush down, placed gentle hands upon her shoulders, and turned her to face him. She looked up, her eyes clear, her cheeks still flushed. He drew her to her feet. “You smell wonderful, sweetheart, like lemon and spice.”

“Carmelite water,” she confided. “I made it myself and find it improves my bath. Was I uncivil, sir?”

“No, but you must learn to speak your piece, else Megan will do all the talking. That lass has her tongue hinged in the middle. Given half a chance it rattles like a clapdish.”

Mary Kate chuckled. “You did not seem to mind, sir.”

He did not deny the statement, but they were interrupted just then by Lucas Trotter, who inquired from the threshold between the two bedchambers whether his master had need of him.

“Get to bed, Trotter. My lass will tend my wants.”

“Indeed, sir, and ’tis a fortunate man ye are, tae ha’ such a bonny tirewooman.”

Amused, Douglas shook a fist, and Trotter scooted out, his hands raised in mock defense. When the door had closed behind the brash little man, Douglas turned back to Mary Kate, grinning at her blushes.

“Come to bed, lassie. I’ve a wish to indulge my senses in the delights of Carmelite water.”

“We should not leave this fire, sir,” she demurred, “and I’ve not got my night rail on yet.”

“Be damned to your Calvinist night rail,” he grumbled. “You’ll have no need of it this night. I’ll tend the blasted fire, too, but I say to you as I said to that Jack-sauce Trotter, ‘get you to bed!’”

Deciding it would be rash to tease him further, she padded obediently into the other bedchamber. A fire was burning on the hearth there, too, but it was smaller, casting little more than a warm glow. The only other light came from her chamber through the open doorway and from a candle stand near the great bed. The light from the doorway dimmed, then vanished, and Douglas entered, demanding to know why she was not in bed.