What nonsense, though.
She shook off the feeling and hurried to the kitchen, where Niven was happily munching on some biscuits Cook had given him.
‘Niven, I need you to bring Mr Lucas his clothing and satchel and everything that was in it. They are in the footmen’s room.’
Her brother looked up at her. ‘Zounds, Mairi. No need to bark orders at me. I want to help.’
She walked over to him and ruffled his hair, which always annoyed him. ‘I am sorry, Niven. I do not know what I would do without you.’
He ran a testy hand through his hair, but looked up at her with serious eyes. ‘Do you need me to forgo my visit with Crawfurd?’
Niven knew their family was in financial difficulty, but Mairi did not have the heart to tell him precisely how serious she suspected it was and how she feared it might result in him losing his birthright.
‘No, dear Brother.’ She kissed him on his head, another gesture that irked him. ‘You deserve some enjoyment.’
He waved her away, but grinned at her.
She made her way up the stairs to the hall. Papa and Mama would be up by now and they should be informed about what the doctor had said.
Davina stood at the foot of the staircase. ‘I just saw Niven in the kitchen. He said he’d be taking care of Mr Lucas today. I do not see why he gets to do it. Why can I not help?’
Mairi opened her mouth to answer, but Davina interrupted.
‘Never mind saying it isn’t proper. You have to help, so I should be able to help as well.’
Mairi put her arm around Davina’s shoulders. ‘There is plenty to do here besides seeing to Mr Lucas, Davina, as you well know.’
‘But I wanted to be the Good Samaritan.’ Davina’s lip trembled.
‘You have already been the Good Samaritan,’ Mairi assured her. ‘By finding Mr Lucas and seeing he was helped.’
‘Niven is telling everyone he found him,’ she protested. ‘But it was me. I saw him first.’
‘And you could have walked by him. That makes you like the Good Samaritan.’
Davina’s eyes widened. ‘I could never have walked by him!’
Mairi’s younger sister possessed a pure, kind heart. She was sweet. And unspoiled.
Mairi gave her a hug. ‘Let us find Mama and Papa and tell them that Mr Lucas is much improved.’
* * *
Their parents were in the morning room finishing a leisurely breakfast with one of the footmen, Robert, to attend them.
Davina entered the room first, rushing up to her mother. ‘Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa.’ She kissed both on the cheek.
Mairi poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. ‘The sick man is much better. His fever broke at last. Mr Grassie was here earlier.’ Her father lowered his newspaper to listen.
‘Oh, yes, the sick man.’ Her mother spoke as if she’d forgotten about him. ‘What did the good doctor say?’
‘Mr Grassie has prescribed rest. The man must stay here for a week or so.’ Mairi softened the time frame and omitted the part about him being contagious, both matters guaranteed to rattle her mother. And, of course, Mairi neglected to mention that she had been the one caring for Mr Lucas.
Her father turned back to his paper. ‘Good man, Grassie.’
Her mother smiled approvingly at her husband’s pronouncement. ‘Indeed he is.’ She glanced back at Mairi. ‘See that the servants give our patient good care, will you, Mairi?’
Robert glanced at Mairi, his bland expression turning to one of worry.
She nodded to him so he’d know she noticed, before answering her mother. ‘I will see to it, Mama. His name is Mr Lucas, by the way.’
‘Lucas?’ Her mother looked up in thought. ‘I do not believe we know any Lucases.’
‘He is an Englishman, Mama.’
‘An Englishman?’ Her father dropped his paper again. ‘I do not fancy an Englishman in our house.’ Her father prided himself on being a full-blooded Scottish patriot.
‘It will only be a few days.’ She changed the subject. ‘What plans have you for today?’
Her mother leaned forward with bright eyes. ‘Mrs Webster will be calling.’ Mrs Webster was the local dressmaker. ‘She is in possession of some new muslins and fashion prints, so don’t you run off somewhere.’ She gave severe looks to both Mairi and Davina. ‘We must measure you both for new gowns.’
‘No, Mama!’ Mairi protested. ‘We do not need to spend more money on gowns!’
Her mother tapped Mairi’s hand. ‘We must! For the house party at Lord Oxmont’s. You must look your best.’
It was no secret that her mother had great hopes that this house party would result in a proposal of marriage for Mairi, but how could she marry? She was not a virgin. A man would be able to tell, she’d heard the maids say.
In any event, they could not afford to pay Mrs Webster for new dresses. ‘Mrs Webster might alter our old dresses,’ she said. ‘That would certainly cost less.’
Davina’s brow furrowed. ‘Do we not have enough money for new dresses?’
Their father took Davina’s hand and squeezed it. ‘It is not as bad as all that, my wee one.’
But it was every bit as bad as all that. And more.
Her father returned to his paper. Mairi could expect no support from him.
She sighed. ‘What about you, Papa? What are your plans?’
He put down his newspaper again. ‘I am off to look at a horse. Laird Buchan put me on to a pretty mare for sale.’
‘Papa!’ Mairi could keep quiet no longer. ‘We do not need another horse!’ They’d lost most of their grooms already, those who wanted to be paid for their work in coin, not promises. ‘We cannot afford it!’
Her father’s face turned red. ‘I’ll not have you speak to me in that tone of voice, lass.’ He lifted his paper again. ‘Besides, a steed like this one comes around once in a lifetime. Or so I’m told.’
Mairi had tried every way she knew to convince her parents to economise. She’d begged them to stop buying things. She’d suggested they sell what they no longer needed. Her mother had gone into palpitations when Mairi had said they should sell some of the jewellery her father was so fond of buying for her.
If her father and mother did not change their ways soon they’d lose the caput—their land and with it her father’s title. In Scotland, a baron could sell both. What future would Niven and Davina have then?
Mairi rose. If she remained another minute, she was likely to lose her temper completely and she knew from experience it only made matters worse.
‘I must go,’ she said. ‘If I have your leave, Papa?’
‘Yes, lass.’ Her father’s good humour returned as it always did. ‘Do not forget about the dressmaker.’
Mairi strode out of the room.
Robert followed her. ‘Does your da not have enough money?’ the footman asked worriedly.
Robert was twenty, Mairi’s age, and a simple young man, the son of one of the crofters. He had not been a footman for very long.
‘Money