Page 9 of Enlightened

David shook his head. He didn’t admit that he’d wanted to wait for Murdo, but that was the truth of it. There wouldn’t be too many more breakfasts together after this one. Murdo was leaving for London tomorrow. When he returned, it wouldn’t be long before David had to go back to Edinburgh. All in all, they had just a handful of days together left.

“All right.” Murdo yawned. “Give me a quarter of an hour to wash and dress, and we’ll go down together.”

“What do you plan to do today, then?” Murdo asked as he slathered his toast in butter. If David held a buttercup under Murdo’s chin, he was sure the reflected light would shine like a beacon. Murdo didn’t just like butter, he loved it.

“First of all, I’m going through the last batch of title deeds. They arrived from Mr. Urquhart yesterday, and I’m hoping they’ll fill in the remaining gaps about the estate.”

Mr. Urquhart had been Sir Hamish’s solicitor. When David’s letters to the man requesting the deeds to the estate had gone unanswered, David had been forced to go to Perth to see the man in person. At that stage, the reason for Urquhart’s failure to respond had become clear—he was ninety, if he was a day, and, frankly, somewhat wandered. His only companion appeared to be an unmarried niece who, mortified to learn of David’s errand, promised to instruct her uncle’s clerk to go through all the deeds in her uncle’s possession to identify those pertaining to the Laverock estate.

Due to the sheer volume of deeds held by Mr. Urquhart, not to mention the total lack of any kind of system of organisation, the task had taken a number of weeks. However, the final batch had now arrived, and David could only hope that these would help to finally make sense of the estate title once and for all, clearing up the remaining uncertainties. Having spent so long teasing out the tangled legal threads of the myriad plots that made up the estate—some inherited, some purchased, some acquired by marriage—David wanted to at least complete his research before he left Laverock House.

“Rather you than me,” Murdo said.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to ride over to Howie’s place this morning and take a look at his cattle. He’s willing to part with a few, and I gather their yield is the envy of Perthshire.”

“You’re turning into quite the gentleman farmer.”

“I’m learning.”

“Do you want to go fishing later?” David asked.

Murdo gave a slow smile. “I’d like that.”

David gave a soft laugh, even as his cheeks heated. He’d asked quite innocently, but now he remembered the last time they’d gone fishing, and what they’d got up to in their private little nook of rocks.

There hadn’t been any catch that day.

Before David could answer, there was a soft knock at the door. It was Archie, the footman, bearing the morning’s post on a silver tray. He placed the tray at Murdo’s right hand and enquired if they wanted anything else, withdrawing when both of them shook their heads.

Murdo rifled through the pile of correspondence. “Two for you,” he said, handing over two slim packets before turning his attention back to his own correspondence.

David perused his letters. He recognised the looping handwriting on one of them as that of his friend Donald Ferguson—Elizabeth’s brother-in-law. Donald had been looking after some of David’s cases while he was staying at Laverock House and regularly wrote to him to keep him advised as to progress and to seek David’s advice.

Breaking the seal, David unfolded the letter and began to read.

My dear Lauriston,

I write to you with the gravest of news. Patrick Chalmers is dying…

“David?”

Murdo’s voice was sharp with concern, but David couldn’t tear his gaze from the letter and those looping letters.

Chalmers—his mentor, the man to whom David owed his career—was dying.

Chalmers—his friend.

He thought of Elizabeth, hiding from her husband in London. She probably wouldn’t get the chance to see the father she adored again, and the thought made his heart ache.

“David, what’s wrong?”

“It’s from Donald,” David got out numbly. “Patrick Chalmers is dying, and he wants to see me.”

He looked up. The stark pity in Murdo’s eyes somehow made the situation feel more real, and he had to swallow against the sudden lump that appeared in his throat. “I have to go to Edinburgh.”

Murdo nodded, but he added, “Are you sure you’re fit to travel?”