Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 189
"Lordy," said Curiosity, getting up with new energy. "I don't much like the woman, but I got to give her credit for landing on her feet. And imagine that, Giselle and Merriweather together in the same room. The feathers must be flying a good mile high."
Maria gave a tight little nod. "If you could come straightaway--"
"Where's my father, do you know?" Nathaniel asked. "She'll want to talk to him, too."
"Yes, she has asked for him repeatedly," Maria said. The sound of raised voices came up the stairwell, and she jumped nervously. "But Mr. Bonner went out with the viscount, sir. Some time ago. Please--"
"We'll be right there," Nathaniel said. "You can go tell her that."
"Soon as we prime the pistols," muttered Curiosity.
Elizabeth said, "I'm wearing her gown." And heard for herself how odd this sounded: Giselle Somerville had sought them out--the mother of Nathaniel's firstborn son had sought them out--and all she could think of was the gown she was wearing. But Nathaniel seemed to dread this meeting as much as she did, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.
"We knew she might be in Edinburgh, looking for some sign of us," he said. "Once she hears what we have to tell her, she won't care what you've got on your back. She'll be on a ship to Canada as fast as she can find one."
They heard the irritated thump of Aunt Merriweather's cane as they came down the stairs, three sharp taps that did not bode well. Elizabeth was reminded of the day her aunt had confronted Julian about the real extent of his gambling debt.
Nathaniel looked very serious, but Curiosity did not seem concerned. Her grin did not leave her until the moment that the footman opened the door for them.
"Obstinate woman." Another three taps of the cane. Her aunt's head swiveled around toward them on its long neck, and Elizabeth saw two things straight off: she was terribly irritated, and she was actually enjoying herself.
Before her stood Giselle Somerville, as finely dressed as she had ever been in a round gown of dark gold Indian ikat muslin. She wore a turban of silk gauze on her head, and a fiery expression. She took no note of Elizabeth at all, her attention focusing immediately on Nathaniel.
"This lady refuses to tell me where to find your father," she said. "My business is with him, if what she says is true and Rob MacLachlan is dead."
"It's true, all right," said Curiosity. "God rest his immortal soul."
Aunt Merriweather's eyes had narrowed. "If what I say is true? If? Let me warn you again, Miss Somerville, I will not tolerate such impudence, such incivility. How dare you come here with such scandalous falsehoods?"
"Aunt," Elizabeth interrupted gently. "I think it would be best if Miss Somerville and Nathaniel were to have a word together, alone."
"My business is with Dan'l Bonner," Giselle said imperiously. "I have nothing to discuss with his son."
Under Elizabeth's hand, all the muscles in Nathaniel's arm were tense but his voice came steady. He said, "I know about the boy."
Aunt Merriweather turned as red in the face as Giselle was pale, but for once she was silenced by her surprise.
Giselle went still. "Very well, your father told you about him. And?"
"He ain't in France."
Some color came back into her cheeks. "Is it true, then. He's in Montréal. And my mother?"
"Your mother, too. We need to talk."
"I will make no apologies." Giselle was struggling desperately, but her composure had been taken from her for once and Elizabeth was struck suddenly with a memory of that moment on the dock at Québec when she realized that her children were gone, and she could not call them back. It had torn a hole in her. Giselle had been living with that for eighteen years.
And maybe Nathaniel saw it, too, because his voice softened. "I don't want any apologies," he said. "I'm as much to blame for what happened. But I'll tell you what you need to know. And something else--there's a place at Carryck for the boy, and for you, too, if you want it."
"Nathaniel," said Aunt Merriweather, regaining her voice and the use of her cane, one thump for each word: "What does this mean?"
"Aunt," Elizabeth said. "Let them discuss this matter in private. I promise, I will make everything clear to you."
Late in the night, Elizabeth woke to the whisper of a misting rain. She had dreamed of Margreit MacKay and of Isabel, too. Women she had known for such a short time while they lived, and still they seemed determined to accompany her on the voyage home. Perhaps Robbie would come, too, if she thought of him hard enough. Perhaps all the dead were that close, and only waited to be summoned.
Nathaniel turned in his sleep. When he had come to her after his long talk with Giselle, the telling of what had passed between them had been slow and awkward, more questions raised than answered. Listening to him, Elizabeth realized that it was not their son who had forged an uneasy bond between Nathaniel and Giselle, but the uncertainty they shared. Luke was a stranger to them both, and might never be anything else.
"I wish I had spent more time talking to him, that night in Montréal."
It was the last thing Nathaniel said before he fell into a sleep so deep that he did not stir when she rose to go to the window to look over the streets of Edinburgh, glistening damp in the lantern light, and in the distance, someplace, the sea.
Maria gave a tight little nod. "If you could come straightaway--"
"Where's my father, do you know?" Nathaniel asked. "She'll want to talk to him, too."
"Yes, she has asked for him repeatedly," Maria said. The sound of raised voices came up the stairwell, and she jumped nervously. "But Mr. Bonner went out with the viscount, sir. Some time ago. Please--"
"We'll be right there," Nathaniel said. "You can go tell her that."
"Soon as we prime the pistols," muttered Curiosity.
Elizabeth said, "I'm wearing her gown." And heard for herself how odd this sounded: Giselle Somerville had sought them out--the mother of Nathaniel's firstborn son had sought them out--and all she could think of was the gown she was wearing. But Nathaniel seemed to dread this meeting as much as she did, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.
"We knew she might be in Edinburgh, looking for some sign of us," he said. "Once she hears what we have to tell her, she won't care what you've got on your back. She'll be on a ship to Canada as fast as she can find one."
They heard the irritated thump of Aunt Merriweather's cane as they came down the stairs, three sharp taps that did not bode well. Elizabeth was reminded of the day her aunt had confronted Julian about the real extent of his gambling debt.
Nathaniel looked very serious, but Curiosity did not seem concerned. Her grin did not leave her until the moment that the footman opened the door for them.
"Obstinate woman." Another three taps of the cane. Her aunt's head swiveled around toward them on its long neck, and Elizabeth saw two things straight off: she was terribly irritated, and she was actually enjoying herself.
Before her stood Giselle Somerville, as finely dressed as she had ever been in a round gown of dark gold Indian ikat muslin. She wore a turban of silk gauze on her head, and a fiery expression. She took no note of Elizabeth at all, her attention focusing immediately on Nathaniel.
"This lady refuses to tell me where to find your father," she said. "My business is with him, if what she says is true and Rob MacLachlan is dead."
"It's true, all right," said Curiosity. "God rest his immortal soul."
Aunt Merriweather's eyes had narrowed. "If what I say is true? If? Let me warn you again, Miss Somerville, I will not tolerate such impudence, such incivility. How dare you come here with such scandalous falsehoods?"
"Aunt," Elizabeth interrupted gently. "I think it would be best if Miss Somerville and Nathaniel were to have a word together, alone."
"My business is with Dan'l Bonner," Giselle said imperiously. "I have nothing to discuss with his son."
Under Elizabeth's hand, all the muscles in Nathaniel's arm were tense but his voice came steady. He said, "I know about the boy."
Aunt Merriweather turned as red in the face as Giselle was pale, but for once she was silenced by her surprise.
Giselle went still. "Very well, your father told you about him. And?"
"He ain't in France."
Some color came back into her cheeks. "Is it true, then. He's in Montréal. And my mother?"
"Your mother, too. We need to talk."
"I will make no apologies." Giselle was struggling desperately, but her composure had been taken from her for once and Elizabeth was struck suddenly with a memory of that moment on the dock at Québec when she realized that her children were gone, and she could not call them back. It had torn a hole in her. Giselle had been living with that for eighteen years.
And maybe Nathaniel saw it, too, because his voice softened. "I don't want any apologies," he said. "I'm as much to blame for what happened. But I'll tell you what you need to know. And something else--there's a place at Carryck for the boy, and for you, too, if you want it."
"Nathaniel," said Aunt Merriweather, regaining her voice and the use of her cane, one thump for each word: "What does this mean?"
"Aunt," Elizabeth said. "Let them discuss this matter in private. I promise, I will make everything clear to you."
Late in the night, Elizabeth woke to the whisper of a misting rain. She had dreamed of Margreit MacKay and of Isabel, too. Women she had known for such a short time while they lived, and still they seemed determined to accompany her on the voyage home. Perhaps Robbie would come, too, if she thought of him hard enough. Perhaps all the dead were that close, and only waited to be summoned.
Nathaniel turned in his sleep. When he had come to her after his long talk with Giselle, the telling of what had passed between them had been slow and awkward, more questions raised than answered. Listening to him, Elizabeth realized that it was not their son who had forged an uneasy bond between Nathaniel and Giselle, but the uncertainty they shared. Luke was a stranger to them both, and might never be anything else.
"I wish I had spent more time talking to him, that night in Montréal."
It was the last thing Nathaniel said before he fell into a sleep so deep that he did not stir when she rose to go to the window to look over the streets of Edinburgh, glistening damp in the lantern light, and in the distance, someplace, the sea.
