Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs Read Free Book Online

poles in hand. “Guid day to ye, Leddy Kerr,” he said with a bob of his head. The two men set off at a trot, weaving their way through the noisy, milling crowd.
    “Come, Peg.” Marjory took her maidservant’s arm. “I’ve need of hot tea and a warm fire.”
    After their long, slow climb, the two were met at the door by Mrs. Edgar in an agitated state. Stray wisps of hair escaped the confines of her white cap, and her gaze darted about the low-ceilinged entrance hall like a bird seeking a safe perch. “Whan the bell started ringing,” she said, “Iflew oot the kirk and across the High Street, certain I spied yer brown silk from afar. Then I reached Milne Square and found ’twas not ye…” She rubbed her brow, clearly unhappy with herself. “Begging yer pardon, mem, but I couldna return.”
    Marjory held her tongue. How could she berate the woman when her plea was so earnest? “I was trapped as well,” she finally admitted, slipping off her cape. “If a chairman hadn’t rescued me, I would be there still.” She gestured toward the stair. “My daughters-in-law and Mr. Kerr will be along soon. I trust you’ll have tea waiting for them. It’s been a very difficult morning.”
    “Oo aye.” Mrs. Edgar dropped a curtsy. “Peg will bring a tray to yer chamber at once.”
    Marjory pulled off her kidskin gloves. Beneath the single, high window in the entrance hall stood her late husband’s mahogany desk, polished to a gleaming finish. She lightly touched the wood in passing. A small vase of fragrant damask roses freshened the stale air with their perfume. On the opposite wall hung Gibson’s folding bed, fastened shut during the day and much of the night. Serving the household as both valet and butler, Gibson was the first to rise and the last to retire.
    She found him in the drawing room, counting the plates for dinner. His livery was neatly pressed, and the silvery fringe of hair circling his balding head was trimmed and combed. He looked up, the relief on his wrinkled face apparent. “Guid to have ye hame, Leddy Kerr.”
    “I feel quite the same,” she told him, then hastened to her bedchamber, thinking only of her porcelain washbowl and a pot of tea.
    Minutes later Marjory lifted a steaming cup to her lips, relishing the fragrant aroma and the strong, sugary taste. Her tea table, dressed in white linen, stood in a well-lit corner facing Milne Square on one side and the High Street on the other. In the capital a family’s wealth was measured in windows, and the Kerrs claimed a sizable number, with six rooms rented for a goodly sum. From this vantage point she could look down on the world through glazed windows and pretend all was well.
    But all was not well. Doors banged above and below, and hurried footsteps sounded on the stair. Voices from the street rose on the autumn breeze—angry, frightened, and confused. Other folk sounded jubilant,wearing their Jacobite sentiments on their sleeves. People with no loyalty to King George. People with nothing to lose.
    When she glimpsed a familiar sedan chair entering the square, Marjory leaned toward the glass for a closer look, then sighed. Elisabeth . The chairmen wasted little time at the stair and were soon moving again, the empty chair bouncing between them.
    Her younger daughter-in-law crossed the threshold moments later, then tarried in the adjacent drawing room chatting with the servants before she finally paused at Marjory’s bedchamber door. “Might I join you, Lady Marjory? Or do you prefer solitude?”
    After a slight hesitation, Marjory caught the housekeeper’s eye. “A second cup, Mrs. Edgar.”
    “I’ll only be a moment,” Elisabeth promised, then proceeded through Marjory’s bedchamber to reach her own.
    As she sipped her tea, Marjory pictured Tweedsford in Selkirkshire with its commodious chambers, high ceilings, and fine view of the countryside. An agreeable place, to be sure, and a generous reward for Lord John’s loyalty to the