Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 124
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
She paused a moment to study the room. It was of a good size, well furnished with mahogany furniture and a fine carpet. Almost certainly these were the best lodgings to be had in Dumfries, but Nathaniel still must bow his head or knock it on the door frame as he came and went.
"Where is Curiosity?"
Hannah pointed with her chin toward the closed door to the adjoining room. "Hot water."
"Of course." Elizabeth made diversions around trunks and baggage on her way to the table, where Nathaniel offered her a tankard. She wrapped her hands around the cool pewter and sniffed. Small beer, sharp and yeasty. The smell of it told her she was in Britain again, as nothing else could.
"Sit." Nathaniel pulled gently on her elbow.
"I've been sitting more than half the day," she said. "Let me stretch a bit. And tell me, what is all this?" There were six trunks she did not recognize, in addition to their own few things.
"Giselle Somerville's baggage," said Hannah. "Moncrieff said that Captain Pickering did not want them, so he gave them to us."
"How very strange. Without first asking if we cared to have them?"
Hannah shrugged, her eyes sliding over Elizabeth's gray travel dress. It was one of the three she had left Paradise with, and like all of them it showed the strain of the journey.
Elizabeth reached for the platter of cold beef. "I will not wear her finery. If we come to the earl in tatters, it is his own doing. I daresay he will receive us anyway."
"Otherwise we'll just turn around and head home," Nathaniel said dryly, peering suspiciously into a bowl of pickled onions.
A knock at the door, and the innkeeper appeared. He bowed hastily, his pate flashing as round and white as a clockface. "May I inquire, is everythin' in order? Do ye require aught else, sir?"
"Mr. Thornburn." Elizabeth addressed him directly, in a tone she knew he could not mistake. "Please see to it that these trunks are removed. Take them to Mr. Moncrieff, for they do not belong to us."
The innkeeper's head bobbed. "Mr. Moncrieff is across the way at the Globe, ma'am, takin' a drink wi' the Poet. But I'll see tae it directly."
Hannah's brow creased. "The Poet? Does Dumfries have its own poet, then?"
"We do indeed, miss. We count Rab Burns as our own. Did ye no' make his acquaintance when he came aboard the Isis?"
"Robert Burns?" Nathaniel sat up straighter. "The exciseman?"
"Aye, the verra one," said Mr. Thornburn, stroking his chin whiskers thoughtfully. "An exciseman, and Scotland's greatest poet, forbye. Is his verse kennt sae far awa' as America, then?"
Hannah put her hands flat on the table and she sang without hesitation, her voice steady but a little rough with disuse:
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!
Mr. Thornburn's jaw sagged, and then snapped sharply closed. "A Red Indian wha' kens Rab Burns's verse. It's aye true, then, they can be civilized."
Before Hannah could respond, Nathaniel had stepped between her and the innkeeper. He said, "We'll thank you for moving the trunks. There's nothing else we need."
"Aye, sir, as ye wish." Mr. Thornburn bowed again. At the door he hesitated, casting one last inquisitive look at Hannah, who raised her chin at him and stared, all indignation.
For a moment they were quiet, listening to the crowd in the town square. Then Elizabeth reached over and put her hand on Hannah's.
"I'm afraid you will hear many such terribly ignorant and rude things while we are here," she said. "Those who think themselves to be civilized are not always particularly intelligent, or rational."
Hannah nodded, the muscles in her jaw working silently. "I should have listened to you," she said finally. "I should have stayed at Lake in the Clouds."
Elizabeth saw Nathaniel tense, as she herself tensed. "I cannot deny that you would be safer at home," she said. "But you belong with us, and I am glad that you are here, just the same."
What Elizabeth wanted most in the world was to bathe in privacy and then to climb into the feather bed to sleep tucked up against her husband. It had been so many months since they had shared such a large and comfortable bed, and this half-day journey from the firth had been more difficult than the last few weeks on the Isis.
But it was an idle wish. The twins needed bathing, and more desperately than she did; the servants came again to remove the trunks, clear the tables, lay fires, empty cold bathwater and bring in new. Curiosity insisted on sorting through all their clothing, separating out those things that needed immediate laundering, and Hannah determined that one of the maids had an inflamed eye that must be treated with a particular herb the Hakim had given her, which required a long search through all her parcels.
Nathaniel stayed clear of all of this by keeping watch at the window. Dumfries celebrated its delight with the Royal Navy by having every man of consequence climb up onto a platform and give a speech, and Nathaniel reported now and then on particularly absurd or witless turns of phrase, of which there were not a few. At one point a very drunk old man leaped up into the group of men on the stage and began to sing so loudly that for a moment the crowd stilled to listen for a few wobbling notes.
"Mick Schiell! Ye can sing nane!" The shout was accompanied by a well-aimed apple, and the old man gave in to the crowd and climbed down again so that the speech-making could continue.
"Where is Curiosity?"
Hannah pointed with her chin toward the closed door to the adjoining room. "Hot water."
"Of course." Elizabeth made diversions around trunks and baggage on her way to the table, where Nathaniel offered her a tankard. She wrapped her hands around the cool pewter and sniffed. Small beer, sharp and yeasty. The smell of it told her she was in Britain again, as nothing else could.
"Sit." Nathaniel pulled gently on her elbow.
"I've been sitting more than half the day," she said. "Let me stretch a bit. And tell me, what is all this?" There were six trunks she did not recognize, in addition to their own few things.
"Giselle Somerville's baggage," said Hannah. "Moncrieff said that Captain Pickering did not want them, so he gave them to us."
"How very strange. Without first asking if we cared to have them?"
Hannah shrugged, her eyes sliding over Elizabeth's gray travel dress. It was one of the three she had left Paradise with, and like all of them it showed the strain of the journey.
Elizabeth reached for the platter of cold beef. "I will not wear her finery. If we come to the earl in tatters, it is his own doing. I daresay he will receive us anyway."
"Otherwise we'll just turn around and head home," Nathaniel said dryly, peering suspiciously into a bowl of pickled onions.
A knock at the door, and the innkeeper appeared. He bowed hastily, his pate flashing as round and white as a clockface. "May I inquire, is everythin' in order? Do ye require aught else, sir?"
"Mr. Thornburn." Elizabeth addressed him directly, in a tone she knew he could not mistake. "Please see to it that these trunks are removed. Take them to Mr. Moncrieff, for they do not belong to us."
The innkeeper's head bobbed. "Mr. Moncrieff is across the way at the Globe, ma'am, takin' a drink wi' the Poet. But I'll see tae it directly."
Hannah's brow creased. "The Poet? Does Dumfries have its own poet, then?"
"We do indeed, miss. We count Rab Burns as our own. Did ye no' make his acquaintance when he came aboard the Isis?"
"Robert Burns?" Nathaniel sat up straighter. "The exciseman?"
"Aye, the verra one," said Mr. Thornburn, stroking his chin whiskers thoughtfully. "An exciseman, and Scotland's greatest poet, forbye. Is his verse kennt sae far awa' as America, then?"
Hannah put her hands flat on the table and she sang without hesitation, her voice steady but a little rough with disuse:
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!
Mr. Thornburn's jaw sagged, and then snapped sharply closed. "A Red Indian wha' kens Rab Burns's verse. It's aye true, then, they can be civilized."
Before Hannah could respond, Nathaniel had stepped between her and the innkeeper. He said, "We'll thank you for moving the trunks. There's nothing else we need."
"Aye, sir, as ye wish." Mr. Thornburn bowed again. At the door he hesitated, casting one last inquisitive look at Hannah, who raised her chin at him and stared, all indignation.
For a moment they were quiet, listening to the crowd in the town square. Then Elizabeth reached over and put her hand on Hannah's.
"I'm afraid you will hear many such terribly ignorant and rude things while we are here," she said. "Those who think themselves to be civilized are not always particularly intelligent, or rational."
Hannah nodded, the muscles in her jaw working silently. "I should have listened to you," she said finally. "I should have stayed at Lake in the Clouds."
Elizabeth saw Nathaniel tense, as she herself tensed. "I cannot deny that you would be safer at home," she said. "But you belong with us, and I am glad that you are here, just the same."
What Elizabeth wanted most in the world was to bathe in privacy and then to climb into the feather bed to sleep tucked up against her husband. It had been so many months since they had shared such a large and comfortable bed, and this half-day journey from the firth had been more difficult than the last few weeks on the Isis.
But it was an idle wish. The twins needed bathing, and more desperately than she did; the servants came again to remove the trunks, clear the tables, lay fires, empty cold bathwater and bring in new. Curiosity insisted on sorting through all their clothing, separating out those things that needed immediate laundering, and Hannah determined that one of the maids had an inflamed eye that must be treated with a particular herb the Hakim had given her, which required a long search through all her parcels.
Nathaniel stayed clear of all of this by keeping watch at the window. Dumfries celebrated its delight with the Royal Navy by having every man of consequence climb up onto a platform and give a speech, and Nathaniel reported now and then on particularly absurd or witless turns of phrase, of which there were not a few. At one point a very drunk old man leaped up into the group of men on the stage and began to sing so loudly that for a moment the crowd stilled to listen for a few wobbling notes.
"Mick Schiell! Ye can sing nane!" The shout was accompanied by a well-aimed apple, and the old man gave in to the crowd and climbed down again so that the speech-making could continue.
