Page 38 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
After everyone had started eating and the footmen had departed, Manachan directed a lancet-sharp look at his heir. “I take it you’ve heard by now that the Bradshaws were taken ill, and that Joy Burns died while she was there helping them. As you weren’t here to deal with the situation, I went out to the Bradshaws to see what could be done.”
Nigel’s and Nolan’s hands slowed. Their heads remained down, their gazes on their plates. Neither had known their father had left the house; Thomas hadn’t mentioned that, and clearly, no one else had, either.
His deep voice giving no hint of his emotions, Manachan continued, “Quite aside from the Bradshaws’ illness, I learned that no seed has yet been supplied to our farmers, those who grow our crops. Not to any of them. Yet unless matters have changed mightily, they’re already late to be getting the first crop into the ground.”
Nolan shifted slightly; Lucilla would have sworn he’d kicked Nigel beneath the table.
A second passed, then Nigel raised his head; his pale skin was flushed, although whether from embarrassment, frustration, or anger, Lucilla couldn’t guess. “I’ve instituted a new system which, overall, will save the clan money. Funds it doesn’t otherwise have. As I’ve been happy to explain to anyone who’s asked, the new system works on a slightly different timetable. The seed is still coming and will be here when it needs to be, which is to say any day now. There’s no need for the farmers to have it in their hands earlier—that was an inbuilt inefficiency of the old system.”
Nigel had delivered his explanation with increasingly arrogant certainty.
Manachan frowned. After a moment, he asked, “So there isn’t actually any problem with the seed supply?”
“No!” Nigel raised his hands in the air, and this time his frustration was transparently clear. “I have no idea why anyone would think there was—well, other than that they refuse to listen to a word I say.”
Manachan stared down the table for a moment, then his gaze switched to Thomas.
Nigel’s gaze followed his father’s; his brown eyes grew agate hard. “And I cannot conceive,” Nigel said, his voice low, dripping with rancor, “why anyone would think Thomas, who doesn’t live here and hasn’t been here for the past two years, would know more about how to run the estate than I do.”
Thomas read the antagonism, the barely reined challenge, in Nigel’s gaze, and tipped his head. “I, too, have to wonder why, given I’m no longer frequently here and you are acting-laird, anyone on the estate would appeal to me about such matters.”
He wasn’t entirely surprised when, after a moment of replaying his words, Nigel inclined his head and lowered his gaze, obviously mollified. Nigel had taken his comment as supporting Nigel’s own position; he hadn’t registered the critical question Thomas’s comment had underscored. Whyhadtwo senior clansmen gone to the trouble of contacting Thomas and asking for his aid?
A glance at Manachan showed his uncle frowning. Unlike Nigel, Manachan had caught the implication.
Thomas looked at Lucilla. Her green gaze was fixed on Nigel. Her expression was neutral, but Thomas suspected that she, too, had heard the true question, the one that yet remained to be answered.
In the circumstances, with Manachan, a well-beloved father figure to the entire clan, having effectively handed the lairdship to Nigel, the question of confidence in Nigel’s leadership was a sensitive one—for Nigel, for Manachan, and even for Nolan, Niniver, and Norris. And Thomas, too. While most often the title of laird was passed from father to son—or, indeed, to daughter—the family that held the lairdship was elected by the clan. A laird who failed to hold the confidence of the clan could be replaced by clan election, either with another of his own family, or with someone of another clan family.
Thomas had assumed that, regardless of the reins of the estate being passed into Nigel’s hands, that Manachan—being Manachan, the benign tyrant he’d known all his life—would still have influenced decisions. Would still have been there, directing matters from the wings.
Instead, Manachan had been laid too low to function in any overseeing capacity.
Nigel had been running the estate entirely on his own.
Thomas gave his attention to his serving of charlotte. The promise he’d made to Manachan, to stay until they’d learned what was going on, resonated in his brain. Quite how he, most likely without Manachan’s direct help, was going to learn what they needed to know, he wasn’t yet sure, but he now accepted that they did, indeed, need to get to the bottom of it. Thomas knew where his loyalties lay. With Manachan, yes, but as a Carrick, as his father’s son, the clan, its people, were his ultimate concern.
Lucilla set down her spoon and looked at Manachan. “The Burns sisters. The staff have laid them out in your ice-house. Given they have no remaining family, a decision will need to be made as to their burial.”
Manachan, Thomas, and Lucilla looked at Nigel, but he had his head down, eating dessert, and didn’t notice their expectation.
Manachan grimaced. Looking at Lucilla, he said, “Our standard is burial four days after death.”
She nodded. “So two days from today.”
“Aye—in the morning, at the church in Carsphairn. There’s a Burns family plot in the churchyard. Thomas”—Manachan glanced at Thomas—“will tell Ferguson. He’ll know what arrangements need to be made.” His gaze returned to Lucilla. Manachan paused, then said, “If you can, I think they—Joy and Faith—would have liked you to attend. To represent the other side, so to speak. Both were adherents of the old ways—they believed in the Lady.”
She inclined her head. “I wasn’t sure, but yes, I will be there.”
Manachan’s lips quirked. “One of your duties?”
“Yes.”
When she said nothing more, Manachan grew pensive. “I realize it’s an imposition, but as Alice Watts is not fully trained, I would appreciate your assessment of how the still room and all other matters pertaining to the healer’s duties stand. How did Joy leave things—especially as she didn’t expect to leave?”
“I’ve already taken a look at the still room. From all I can see, Joy had everything well in hand. She’s got the basics well covered, and she had started preparing summer tonics.” Lucilla seized the moment to ask, “One thing—what tonics did Joy prescribe for you? Alice will need to know to put more up.”
Manachan waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about me—I’m an old man. Look to the bairns first. Make sure Alice knows all she needs to cope with broken bones, burns, and cuts, and the usual childhood ailments.”
