The Jacobite's Wife by Morag Edwards

Author:Morag Edwards [Edwards, Morag]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780995623576
Publisher: Bookline & Thinker
Published: 2018-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

This was my fourth Christmas at Terregles. I knew it wasn’t possible to have a Christmas like those of my childhood. As the Kirk frowned on celebrations, there would be no decorations or music. My mother-in-law insisted that we follow the same rules as our neighbours, so that we didn’t draw attention to ourselves. I had fought her at first, resenting a creed that seemed steeped in misery rather than harmless fun.

It was early evening and we sat together in the panelled drawing room that became warm and comfortable in the winter months, with its low ceilings and small, narrow windows. I placed my hand on my stomach, confident that another child would be born in the summer. Grace and Lucy sat by the fire, talking in low voices about the possibility of snow. My son was asleep, unaware that tomorrow he would be given some nuts and dried fruit. Although it was a working day, we would have a special meal as Lucy had fattened a goose through the autumn and I had made a pippin pie from the last of the apples. The itinerant priest we shared with other families had already visited and there would be no mass on Christmas Day.

Lucy’s only concession was to maintain the Scots tradition of placing a candle in every window, to light the way of the holy family. Tonight, we lit the way for William too as he had promised to be home on Christmas Eve. I worked at the table on the accounts, the ledger lit by a rush light at my elbow and the candle in the window behind. I listened, in part to the murmurs of the other woman and in part for the crash of the gates and the ring of hooves in the courtyard. My additions showed that we were in credit by the smallest margin. Our difficulties in finding a market for our cattle, wool and linen were as severe as for any other Scottish farm. Our tenant farmers struggled to pay their rents and the fit, young men from the villages were taken to fight as mercenaries, rather than work the land. I sighed and threw my pen down, smearing ink across the page, recalling my argument with William about his spending.

‘You don’t understand,’ he’d shouted at me, ‘I need to be able to maintain a position in Edinburgh as the Earl of Nithsdale. That takes money.’

‘No, William, you must understand about living within our means. The more you spend in Edinburgh the less we have here. We thought we were frugal at St Germain but that was nothing compared to the savings we have to make now.’

‘Ah, St Germain, of course. I’d forgotten your perfect life at St Germain. You’re as mean as your father and, from what I’ve heard, as controlling as your mother.’

‘That’s so unfair, William. I’m simply trying to make sure we live without debt. And you are nothing like your mother, more’s the pity.’

‘Don’t bring my mother into this.

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