Page 49 of The Indigo Heiress
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The superiority of chocolate [hot chocolate], both for health and nourishment, will soon give it the same preference over tea and coffee here in America.
Thomas Jefferson
“The youngest Mr. Buchanan sends his best wishes for your recovery,” Juliet told Loveday upon returning home from the fête.
“How I hated to miss it.” Loveday sneezed into a handkerchief, looking pleased to hear it nevertheless. “How did the evening go?”
“Well enough, except I missed you terribly. These tobacco lords aren’t nobility, but they do enjoy a flash of jewels and finery.”
“I’ve heard some of them are procuring titles to go with their fortunes, though the Buchanans might not be among them.”
Juliet sat down on the edge of Loveday’s mattress, wondering if Leith had gone straight to bed. The midnight hour had passed, and she stifled a yawn herself.
“You look lovely. That indigo silk with the silver thread is exquisite.” Loveday touched a lace sleeve ruffle in admiration. “So what’s next on our social calendar?”
“Tea with Lyrica day after tomorrow.”
“Lyrica?” Loveday’s expression clouded. “There’s something about her...”
Juliet’s weariness vanished. “What do you mean?”
“Remember when Mama would tell us to take caution with this one or that? Rare though it was, her admonishment never failed to prove true in time.”
“And you feel chary of Lyrica.”
Loveday looked pained. “I saw her berating a servant most harshly behind the scenes at my debut. Perhaps it was a onetime occurrence. I’ve noticed these Scots are very different than Americans. The Buchanans are especially worldly. But I certainly don’t want to naysay your new family.”
“You rarely naysay anyone.” Juliet staunched the impulse to confess her low opinion of Euan. “You’re always gracious.”
Loveday took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Lyrica Buchanan’s behavior is not my concern. But at the same time, I’d rather not go visit her myself. Let the new sisters-in-law have time together first.”
The March day chosen for meeting with Lyrica Buchanan was dry with a hint of spring. Juliet walked along with Minette, wishing for more plainstanes underfoot like those the tobacco lords stood upon beneath King William’s statue. Would summer’s dust be as thick as winter’s mud? Today it seemed everyone in Glasgow had spilled out of their homes and shops to stand in the fragile sunshine.
“Watch for pickpockets,” Minette cautioned, looking about with a wary eye. “They often work in pairs, these thieves, and have a particular fondness for silk handkerchiefs and gold watches.”
Juliet avoided the press of people when she could but nearly came to a stop once they rounded a corner. Among all the faces before her, one leapt out. A man, hat lowered to shade his features, seemed to be staring right at her from across the street. As she met his eyes, he slipped into the crowd and vanished from view.
Riggs. He resembled Riggs.
Juliet fought the urge to flee and stood her ground. He’d only reminded her of Riggs. Nothing more. But that last night at Royal Vale still haunted her. Or perhaps it was Loveday’s rare word of caution about Lyrica that shadowed her.
The alarm of the moment soon faded as she and Minette moved into a lane of birdsong and sunlight, the crowds lessening.
“The Buchanan Street residence, where the other Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan reside, is smaller than the Virginia Street townhouse. ’Tis older, for one, and seldom used,” Minette told her as they passed beneath an avenue of shade trees. “My sister was in service there once ... until she ran away.”
Juliet looked at her in surprise. “Ran away?”
“I know not where, Madame Buchanan.”
To not know where one’s sister was? Loveday sprang to mind, their bond as close as two sisters could be. “I’m so sorry. ’Tis saddening.”
“Oui, très difficile.” Minette’s features crumpled. “She was all I had in the world. édith was sent to attend to Madame Havilah on Virginia Street until her death, then returned to serve Madame Lyrica briefly. Much like I have been sent to you.”
“She was one of the two maids in service to them both?” Juliet recalled one name from the newspaper clearly. “The other was a Mary Andrews.”
“Two maids were needed to attend Madame Havilah as she was so ill.” Minette looked more distressed. “How did you know about the details?”
“I read some old newspapers about it. Mention was made of poisoning, which I find alarming, to say the least.”
“Oui. Poisonous powders. Calomel, perhaps.”
Juliet mulled this as they continued on. “What became of Mary?”
“Mary died soon after Madame Havilah. And then my sister left Buchanan Street.”
Juliet slowed her steps. “Was édith unhappy in service, Minette?”
“Servants are not expected to be happy or unhappy, no?” Minette’s tone turned resigned. “It is all about pleasing one’s employer, in this case the powerful Buchanans.”
Juliet sensed Minette had finished discussing the matter, for her sudden shift in demeanor seemed a closed door. Her heart was understandably sore about her sister. The entire matter turned Juliet more skittish.
They walked on in silence for several minutes. “Paisley is nearly as grand as Ardraigh Hall, and I’m sure you’ll visit soon, madame.” Minette brightened as they turned a corner. “And then there is Lamb Hill.”
“The younger Mr. Buchanan’s country house?”
“Oui. It is newer and très belle . Not so far from Ardraigh Hall. And true to its name, the mansion is built on a hill surrounded by sheep.”
Once they were inside the Buchanan Street townhouse, Lyrica greeted them, ushering Juliet into a small parlor while Minette went to the servants’ hall. “Brave of you to walk about with our changeable weather. I’m so glad you’ve come. We didn’t have a chance to exchange anything but pleasantries at the last fête .”
“Which you’ve recovered from, I hope.”
Lyrica laughed. “Being up late is something I rarely choose to do, though a fête of any kind is invariably entertaining. But enough of that. How are you adjusting to Scottish life? I hope you’re not homesick.”
“I’m so occupied I scarcely think of it.” Juliet looked toward the door as a footman brought hot chocolate rather than tea in a tall pot. Cinnamon and chiles laced the chill air. “You’re a Glaswegian?”
“Born and bred, yes. I’ve never been beyond Britain. I hear America is indeed a brave new world.”
“Full of heat and insects and fevers,” Juliet admitted, Leith’s malady in mind. “But there is beauty, too, in the wild newness of it all. I stand amazed at how many centuries of history are here. It makes one feel small. Glasgow is enormous.”
“Compared to London, Glasgow is almost a hamlet. Leith will have to take you to his townhouse in Mayfair, my favorite of all the Buchanan residences. And then there’s his Edinburgh tenement on High Street.”
“Does he often travel there?”
“Not since Havilah died. He told you about her, I suppose?”
“Only that she was Romany and they made an unusual match.”
“It all started quite harmlessly, as things often do.” Taking a drink of her cocoa, Lyrica seemed at a loss for words. “’Tis tradition here for Romany babies to be presented for baptism. Ladies of the parish give these infants and their families gifts when they are. On the Sunday that Havilah’s clan took a newborn to the Buchanans’ parish kirk, Leith’s elderly aunt—his mother had passed by then—was recovering from a fall, so she asked him to accompany her. You can guess what happened.”
Juliet envisioned it. A newborn. The parish kirk. A cartload of gifts. A bewitching beauty with an unusual name. And a very marriageable Buchanan.
“It all happened so very fast. Soon Leith was taking great interest in Havilah’s family as tenants when he’d not done so before. He courted her, she accepted, then it all came apart.”
“It wasn’t a happy union from the first, then.”
“For a time, perhaps. He did seem to care for her deeply early on. But she was so very ... common. Refreshingly different and without guile, Leith said.” Lyrica shook her head. “There was talk of his being unfaithful to her in the papers, but that was a lie. Leith had a great deal going on business-wise, and she fell ill with a difficult pregnancy. She nearly died at the birth, though the twins were healthy and thriving.”
Juliet all but held her breath as Lyrica continued.
“She seemed to almost lose her mind for periods of time. Violent mood swings and the like. A wet nurse was hired in the hopes Havilah would recover her strength. I’ve played it over in my mind dozens of times and believe the final straw had to do with her family moving on without her and not letting her know. She went to the tower encampment to see them and they’d left without a word. The few Romany who remained couldn’t say where they’d gone or when they’d be back.”
Juliet felt a surge of pity, not only for Havilah but for Leith. And she couldn’t help but note the disdain with which Lyrica spoke of her.
“That last night in Glasgow...” Lyrica paused, her features haunted. “Havilah left after midnight and went toward the Jamaica Street bridge without so much as a cape or a hat or even shoes. Leith followed in a hard, driving rain, intent on giving her her freedom if she wanted to return to her people. She saw him and shouted for him to go away as she climbed up on the bridge’s side. And then she jumped. The fall was far and the water icy, and Leith jumped after her, but she was swept away by the current. If he wasn’t a strong swimmer he’d likely have perished with her.”
Juliet wondered at the depths of Havilah’s despair and Leith’s horror at watching her take her own life. Was it any wonder he was emotionally reserved? Afraid to risk his heart again?
“Of course, Leith’s critics blamed him. The newspapers continued to print it as the worst sort of scandal. He hadn’t a moment’s peace for months. He went into mourning and shut himself away.”
“Where is she buried?”
“In the park at Ardraigh Hall. She always loved swans, so Leith made her final resting place near the lake.”
A touching consideration given their last haunting moments. Juliet wondered if he ever went there or would show the twins one day.
“For a time, I feared he would forsake the bairns completely and leave them solely to the servants. They seemed to remind him of Havilah, of his personal failings regarding her.”
“Cole and Bella ... I sense they miss their mother.”
“Perhaps. We spent all the time we could with them when Leith was away in the colonies. There’s nothing like children to enliven a house. Yet he sees so little of them.” Tears shone in Lyrica’s eyes, and suddenly Juliet realized what she’d overlooked before. Lyrica and Euan were childless. While Leith spent little time at home with his twins, they were denied the privilege of having any.
“Yet they seem to care for him despite his frequent absences. They even prepared a surprise for him last night before bedtime—some drawings they made—but he didn’t come home.” Swallowing, Juliet pressed on. “I always listen for him...”
There, she said it. Clumsily and inelegantly but honestly. The young women he’d partnered with at dances still haunted her. And there was mention of infidelity in the newspaper printings she’d found about Havilah, though Lyrica denied it. Had Leith been faithful to Havilah? Had he been faithful to her ?
“Leith spent the night here,” Lyrica told her. “After tearing up the second floor of the Saracen’s Head in your defense.”
Juliet recoiled. What?
“He’s a bit of a brawler when he feels maligned—or when someone maligns you, in this case.” Lyrica chuckled. “He didn’t want to hazard seeing you after the fight.”
“Is he hurt?”
“The offending party got the worst of it, though Leith does have a few bruises. Not enough to keep him from business as usual today, though it may have cost him his standing as city councillor.”
City councillor? How much she still had to learn about this man whose name she shared, if nothing else. “And pray tell, what was the offending remark?”
“A fellow tobacco lord, Cochrane”—Lyrica looked pained—“called you a saucy minx on account of your canceling the assembly. He felt slighted, it seems, to have been second to the city’s poor.”
“Humble of him,” Juliet murmured, taking another sip of the now lukewarm chocolate. Leith had warned her about Cochrane aboard ship, had he not? “I’ve never been called a saucy minx before, at least to my knowledge.”
“You shan’t ever again, I assure you.” Lyrica smiled knowingly. “Perhaps you should think of it as a token of Leith’s affection.”
“His defense of me?”
Lyrica nodded. “He is more than fond of you. He even told me you prefer hot chocolate to tea.” She lifted the pot to refill their cups. “Remember, it is thought déclassé to show much outward affection toward one’s spouse, at least here. Though I must say your graciousness is a perfect foil to his gruffness.”
“You understand him well.”
“As well as Leith can be understood.” Lyrica gave an enigmatic little smile. “Don’t let his reserve fool you. Behind it lies a vitally beating heart. Flashes of it come out at uncertain times—like the fight with Cochrane.”
“I wish he’d come home to Virginia Street instead. I want no secrets between us. It pains me to know so little about him, including his past life and upbringing.”
“When the lads were small they rarely saw their father, he was so immersed in the firm. Their mother, Sybella, was often unwell. Neither of them cared for children, and so nursemaids and housekeepers managed them. On the rare occasions they were together, it proved frightening and formal, even loveless.”
Even hearing it secondhand made Juliet ache. A stark contrast to her happy childhood. “And when they came of age?”
“Leith and Euan were educated at university here while Niall trained at a London firm after doing a Grand Tour of the continent. Leith spent considerable time in the Indies and America prior to becoming principal in the firm. At one point, their father had a penchant for gambling and nearly lost a considerable part of their fortune. If not for Leith, they’d not have the standing they do today.”
“Their parents have been buried some years now?”
“They both died of smallpox in the last epidemic and are buried in Ramshorn cemetery. All of the brothers survived it, but only Euan bears scars.” Lyrica set her empty cup on the table. “And you? What is your upbringing?”
“As an American rebel?” Juliet replied, leading to Lyrica’s obvious amusement. “I’m Virginia born and bred, though schooled with Loveday in London for a time. When my mother couldn’t bear being apart from us any longer, we returned to Virginia when I was fourteen and my sister twelve. We resided up the James River on a plantation called Royal Vale, inherited from my great-great-grandparents. My mother died in a carriage accident a few years ago. My father continues well and has recently remarried and is on his way here.”
“To Glasgow? How delightful! We must welcome him, then. Show him a wee bit of Scots hospitality.”
Juliet smiled, wishing she could ask about the maid édith. Though all seemed peaceful and still, there seemed an echo of warning in the refined, papered parlor.