Chapter Ten
“M’laird? I am sorry tae disturb ye, but Lady Currie has asked me tae come tae ye.”
Lilia stood at the door of Laird Currie’s solar, enormous oak doors that had been carved into figures from Celtic mythology.
Fantastic dogs and creatures were on the panels along with exaggerated warriors.
The doors were quite legendary in Edinburgh and scholars came from all over to get a look at the detail.
Greer Gordon McCulloch Currie was a man of great learning.
He came from a long line of warriors who had discovered the lust of money and had become importers of fine goods from the continent.
They were high-end goods and there was no merchant stall in Edinburgh to ply their wares; all business was conducted out of the manse and there was no shortage of customers.
Laird Currie could sell an ancient crystal bowl to a wealthy lord and make enough money to sustain Hawkhill for an entire year.
Wealth was something the House of Currie had.
When Laird Currie saw Lilia standing at the doors to his solar, he set aside the book in his hand and waved her in.
“Ah,” he said. “’Tis Colm’s little lass. Come in, child.”
Lilia did. She genuinely liked the somewhat eccentric Laird Currie and she smiled as she came into the chamber.
“Forgive me for disturbing ye, m’laird,” she said. “Lady Currie has asked me tae look at one of yer Roman vases. She wants me tae make her a gown like the ancients wore.”
Laird Currie was out of his chair, very interested in showing her what she sought.
As he moved towards a rack of shelves against the wall, he reached into his pocket and pulled forth a big, gray rat, putting the little beastie on a nearby table and giving him a crumb to eat from the remnants of the meal there.
“This,” he said as he reached up to grasp a vase. “This will show ye what the Roman women wore. Magnificent, is it not?”
He handed it to Lilia, who took it timidly.
In truth, she was still eyeing the rat that the man had pulled from his pocket as the creature ate breadcrumbs on the tabletop.
That wasn’t unusual when it came to Laird Currie; he was known to walk around with rats in every pocket.
Pet rats that all had names like Achilles and Diogenes and Clyde.
Laird Currie and his rat army was well-known.
But she pushed the thoughts of rats aside to focus on the vase.
It was a beautiful piece, about a foot long, with scenes depicting women all around it.
The colors were white and brown and a faded red, showing women lounging and eating.
More importantly, it showed their dress and she looked at it closely.
“Aye, m’laird, ’tis,” she said. “May I ask how old?”
Laird Currie was beaming proudly at the vase as one would beam at a first-born son. “Two thousand years, I should think,” he said. “These garments were only worn by the noble women, ye know. See the embroidery around the edges?”
Lilia nodded as he pointed it out. “Was it white?”
He shook his head. “Nay, lass,” he said. “Gold. The gown itself must be white, mind ye. A very fine white fabric and ye embroider the edges in gold. My wife asked for this, did she?”
Lilia nodded. “She did, m’laird,” she said. “I must go tae the fabric merchant and purchase it specially for her.”
The old man nodded, his movements thoughtful as he took the vase from her and carefully set it on the shelf.
Another rat slithered out of his robe pocket and fell to the floor, scurrying away as he moved to another small bowl nearby and picked it up, returning to Lilia so she could take a look at it.
“She will look very fine in it,” he said, stepping away as Lilia looked over the bottom of the bowl where women in fine clothing were painted. “She will look like a goddess.”
Lilia sensed something wistful in that statement.
Everyone knew that Laird Currie stayed to his solar all day and all night, rarely leaving.
He slept here most of the time in the company of his rats, over on a leather couch that was gouged and worn.
It was his sanctuary and, Lilia’s father had said, also his prison.
Laird Currie was a lonely man.
“When it’s finished, I’m sure she’ll be proud tae show it tae ye, m’laird,” she said. “She asked specifically for a Roman dress. I’m sure it was tae please ye.”
Laird Currie smiled, but it was without humor. “It isna tae please me, Lilia,” he said. “But it is nice for ye tae say so. I’m sure she wants a new dress tae wear tae The Cal. And why should she not want one? Everyone shows off their finery there.”
Lilia couldn’t dispute him but she wasn’t comfortable with the turn of the conversation. Surely the man knew where his wife went nightly; how could he not? Everyone else knew, so why not he?
But that was the first time she’d heard him speak of it.
“My… my da was very fond of ye,” she said to change the subject; any subject. “He used tae speak so warmly of ye. I never had the chance tae thank ye for what ye did for him before he died. Ye did all ye could tae heal him.”
“Yer da was a sick man,” he said, though he didn’t seem to be pleased with the change in focus.
He looked at her pointedly. “When ye came tae work off his debt, I was pleased with the honor ye would show yer father, but now I know it was a bad thing. Ye should have never come here, Lilia. I know what happens tae ye. I hear things. I heard ye were attacked by that cow who tends my wife. I heard she locked ye in a chamber.”
Lilia’s cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze. “It was nothing, m’laird.”
“It dinna sound like nothing tae me. What happened?”
“Colly and I dunna get on,” she said. “But I dinna provoke her if that’s what ye mean. I try tae behave myself, but that woman is…”
He cut her off with a snort. “I know what she is,” he said. “She’s a devil who tries tae rule my home. I’d like tae send ye home but my wife likes tae have ye here. She likes the garments ye make for her.”
Lilia’s heart was in her throat with what he’d said. I’d like tae send ye home. God, how she wished he would!
“I dunna mean tae be bold, m’laird, but when do ye think ye can send me home?” she asked. “What I mean tae ask is when my da’s debt will be paid?”
The old lord looked at her. “Soon, I should think. Where will ye go?”
Lilia was vague in her reply. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I have an aunt who lives in SelBrody. Mayhap I’ll return tae her, though it will seem strange not seeing my da in her home. That was the only home he ever knew next to Hawkhill.”
Laird Currie nodded, somewhat sadly. “Yer da was a great help tae me when he was here,” he said. “He was my friend. Not many men say that about a servant, but I do. Colm Galston was a good friend. I miss him.”
Lilia smiled. “As do I, m’laird.”
She was still holding the bowl with the women painted on it and Laird Currie moved to her, carefully taking the bowl from her. His movements were slow, pensive.
“I’ll bring it up tae my wife about sending ye home,” he said after a moment. “Mayhap after ye make her Roman dress for her. No promises that she’ll agree, but I’ll ask.”
Lilia felt more relief than she could express. Was it really possible that the end of her servitude was in sight? “Thank ye, m’laird,” she said. “But… but if I’m able tae pay off the debt myself, could I do that?”
“Do ye have the money?”
“I dunna know. How much would it be?”
He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Yer da cost me a good deal when he was ill,” he said.
“Truthfully, I wouldna consider it a debt, but my wife does. That’s why we took ye in payment – because she said I should.
I would say two pounds should satisfy the debt.
But if my wife wishes tae keep ye on, it may be more difficult than that. ”
Lilia knew that and she tried not to get her hopes up. “I dunna wish tae be a servant the rest of my life, m’laird,” she said. “I have dreams, too.”
“What dreams?”
“Tae become a seamstress and sew for fine ladies. And… and mayhap tae marry.”
His old eyes crinkled. “Do ye have a lad picked out?”
She was coy, fighting off a grin. “’Tis possible, m’laird.”
Laird Currie chuckled at her girlish charm, something that was so different from his own wife. She didn’t have charm – what she had was purely opportunistic seduction. Perhaps if he’d been wiser when he’d met her…
But no.
He could not look back. He’d done that too much as it was.
“Off with ye, lass,” he finally said. “We’ll speak on this another time.”
Lilia rushed off, but not before she caught a glimpse of Laird Currie as he sat at his fine table, cluttered with books and more rats and a writing kit, and rubbed at his forehead as if greatly troubled.
Of course he was troubled. With a wife who only wanted to dress for her studs at the Ludus Caledonia, he had a great deal to be troubled over. He may have been the lord of the manse, but he had no say in what went on there and Lilia felt a good deal of pity for him. He was a nice man, after all.
And he’d spoken of her freedom.
Struggling to keep optimism from consuming her, she headed back up to the small, neat sewing room to sketch out an example of the dress she wanted to make for Lady Currie.