Jocasta made another unladylike noise, which caused Campbell to glance at her with affection before turning back to Jamie.
“Your aunt is more than capable of managing the business of the estate with Ulysses to assist her in the documentary aspects. However, as ye will have seen yourself”—he gestured delicately at the bowl of water, which now resembled a bowl of ink—“there are physical concerns to the running of it, as well.”
“That was the point that Lieutenant Wolff put to me,” Jocasta said, lips thinning at the memory. “That I could not expect to manage my property alone, and me not only a woman, but sightless as well. I could not, he said, depend upon Byrnes, unable as I am to go to the forest and the mill to see what the man is doing. Or not doing.” Her mouth shut firmly on the thought.
“Which is true enough,” Campbell put in ruefully. “It is a proverb amongst us—‘Happiness is a son old enough to be factor.’ For when it’s a matter of money or slaves, ye cannot trust anyone save your kin.”
I drew a deep breath and glanced at Jamie, who nodded. At last we’d got to it.
“And that,” I said, “is where Jamie comes in. Am I right?”
Jocasta had already enlisted Farquard Campbell to deal with Lieutenant Wolff upon his next visit, intending that Campbell should keep Byrnes from committing folly with the contracts. When we had so opportunely arrived, though, Jocasta had hit upon a better plan.
“I sent word to Farquard that he should inform the Lieutenant that my nephew had come to take up the management of River Run. That would cause him to go cautiously,” she explained. “For he would not dare to press me, with a kinsman who had an interest standing by.”
“I see.” Despite himself, Jamie was beginning to look amused. “So the Lieutenant would think his attempt at a good down-setting here was usurped by my arrival. No wonder the man seemed to take such a mislike to me. I thought it was perhaps a general disgust of Scotsmen that he had, from what he said.”
“I should imagine that he has—now,” Campbell said, dabbing his lips circumspectly with his napkin.
Jocasta reached across the table, groping, and Jamie put out his hand instinctively to hers.
“You will forgive me, Nephew?” she said. With his hand to guide her, she could look toward his face; one would not have known her blind, by the expression of pleading in her beautiful blue eyes.
“I knew nothing of your character, d’ye see, before ye came. I could not risk that you would refuse a part in the deception, did I tell ye of it first. Do say that ye hold no grudge toward me, Jamie, if only for sweet Ellen’s sake.”
Jamie squeezed her hand gently, assuring her that he held no grudge. Indeed, he was pleased to have come in time to help, and his aunt might count upon his assistance, in any way she chose to call upon him.
Mr. Campbell beamed and rang the bell; Ulysses brought in the special whisky, with a tray of crystal goblets and a plate of savories, and we drank confusion to the British Navy.
Looking at that fine-boned face, so full of blind eloquence, though, I couldn’t help recalling the brief synopsis Jamie had once given me of the outstanding characteristics of the members of his family.
“Frasers are stubborn as rocks,” he’d said. “And MacKenzies are charming as larks in the field—but sly as foxes, with it.”
* * *
“And where have you been?” Jamie asked, giving Fergus a hard up-and-down. “I didna think ye’d money enough for what it looks as though ye’ve been doing.”
Fergus smoothed his disheveled hair, and sat down, radiating offended dignity.
“I met with a pair of French fur-traders in the town. They speaking little English, and myself being fluent, I could not but agree to assist them in their transactions. If they should then choose to invite me to share a small supper at their inn…” He lifted one shoulder in Gallic dismissal of the matter, and turned to more immediate concerns, reaching inside his shirt for a letter.
“This had arrived in Cross Creek for you,” he said, handing it to Jamie. “The postmaster asked me to bring it.”
It was a thick packet of paper, with a battered seal, and looked in little better condition than did Fergus. Jamie’s face lighted when he saw it, though he opened it with some trepidation. Three letters fell out; one in what I recognized as his sister’s writing, the other two plainly addressed by someone else.
Jamie picked up the letter from his sister, eyed it as though it might contain something explosive, and set it gently down by the fruit bowl on the table.
“I’ll start wi’ Ian,” he said, picking up the second letter with a grin. “I’m not sure I want to be reading Jenny’s without a glass of whisky in my hand.”
He prised off the seal with the tip of the silver fruit knife, and opened the letter, scanning the first page. “I wonder if he…” His voice faded off as he began to read.
Curious, I got up and stood behind his chair, looking over his shoulder. Ian Murray wrote a clear, large hand, and it was easy to read, even at a distance.
Dear Brother—
All here are well, and give thanks to God for the news of your safe arrival in the Colonies. I send this missive in care of Jocasta Cameron; should it find you in her company, Jenny bids you to give her kindest regards to her Aunt.
You will see from the enclosed that you are restored to my wife’s good graces; she has quite ceased to talk of you in the same breath with Auld Scratch, and I have heard no recent references to Emasculation, which may relieve your mind.
To put aside jesting—her Heart is much lightened by news of Young Ian’s safety, as is my own. You will know the depth of our gratitude at his Deliverance, I think; therefore I will not Weary you with Repetitions, though in all truth, I could write a Novel upon that theme.
We manage to keep all here fed, though the barley suffered much from hail, and there is a flux abroad in the village which has claimed two children this month, to their parents’ sorrow. It will be Annie Fraser and Alasdair Kirby we have lost, may God have mercy on their innocence.
On a happier note, we have had word from Michael in Paris; he continues to prosper in the wine business, and thinks of marrying soon.
I take joy in acquainting you with news of the birth of my newest grandson, Anthony Brian Montgomery Lyle. I shall content myself with this announcement, leaving a fuller description to Jenny; she is besotted of him, as are we all, he is a Dear Lad. His father, Paul—Maggie’s husband—is a soldier, so Maggie and wee Anthony bide here at Lallybroch. Paul is in France at present; we pray nightly he may be left there, in relative peace, and not sent to the dangers of the Colonies nor the wilds of Canada.
We have had visitors this week; Simon, Lord Lovat, and his companions. He has come a-gathering again, seeking recruits for the Highland regiment he commands. You will perhaps hear of them in the Colonies, where I understand they have established some small reputation. Simon tells great tales of their bravery against the Indians and the wicked French, some of which are doubtless true.
Jamie grinned at this, and turned the page over.
He quite enthralled Henry and Matthew by his stories, and the girls as well. Josephine (“Kitty’s eldest,” Jamie observed in an aside to me) was so inspired, indeed, as to engineer a raid upon the chicken-coop, wherefrom she and her Cousins all emerged bedecked with feathers, mud from the kail-yard being employed in lieu of war-paint.