the trip to the mill and how close they were to disaster.
Duncan was doing what he could. He’d left for London the day before, the stated purpose to sell some English property. She suspected he had other plans, but he didn’t confide in her.
She stood up from her secretary, placing her hands on the small of her back and stretching. She stared at the figures she’d taken from the ledgers for hours but couldn’t see a way out of their situation.
If they did nothing, the mill would slowly grind to a halt. As it was, Duncan hadn’t paid some of his vendors and payroll was a huge outlay of dwindling cash. Even if they let the rest of the employees go, they’d still have expenses, unless they closed the doors and walked away.
The MacIain family would be among the gallantly and proudly poor.
Starving with grace had absolutely nothing to recommend it. She’d come close to doing exactly that in those last months in Washington. She had to dismiss the servants and leave the house Richard had rented. She took a room in a less genteel area of Washington in order to save money. She’d subsisted on the one meal allotted with her rent, sold all her gowns and jewelry,and contacted the legation weekly to try to arrange passage home. If they hadn’t picked up the cost of the voyage, she wouldn’t have been able to return to Scotland.
She analyzed her skills in those months, applying for positions without thought of pride or pretense. No one wanted a female bookkeeper or accountant. None of her experience at the mill was translatable to a paying position anywhere. She wasn’t a talented seamstress. Nor did she know how to trim bonnets. Factory work wasn’t an option since no manufacturing existed within walking distance.
At least when she lived in Washington she only had herself to support. Now there was an entire household.
Duncan had some investments not associated with the mill that would carry them for a few months, but what then? She didn’t have an answer other than finding employment. They had to outlast the war. Yet even once the blockade was lifted, was there any guarantee they’d be able to acquire raw cotton again? Would the Confederates win? If they did, could they produce and export cotton in time to save the mill? If they lost the war, would the fields be razed by the Union?
Everything was dependent on the Civil War, an irony that didn’t escape her. Yet the same war decimating the MacIain coffers was helping Lennox. He might even be the richest man in a city filled with wealthy men.
Did Lennox still treasure his friendships and care about people? If he did, why hadn’t he realized Duncan needed help? Why hadn’t he offered?
Duncan wouldn’t go to Lennox. His pride would prevent him from asking for help. The question was: how much pride did she have?
She stood, walked to her vanity and leaned herhands against the top, peering at her image in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. She brushed her hair into place, inserted a few more pins to keep the tendrils tamed, and applied a little salve to her lips.
She glanced toward Hillshead. Could she really go to Lennox and ask him for help?
Gloaming settled over Glasgow like a memory, making her recall a dozen times she left her house for Hillshead. Now she slipped out of the kitchen much as she had back then, smiling at Mabel and Lily before heading for the path Lennox and Duncan had worn into the grass as boys.
She hesitated at the arched bridge at the bottom of the hill. The structure had to be rebuilt every couple of years when the burn would outgrow its banks for a few weeks and become a river. Now the water gurgled and babbled as it fell over the smooth stones, as if telling her all the secrets since she’d last crossed.
She grabbed her skirts, trying to hold them away from the ground. She took the track winding through the pines, breathing in the pungent smell of the needles. Here it was almost dark, but she remembered the way.
The wind soughed
Duncan was doing what he could. He’d left for London the day before, the stated purpose to sell some English property. She suspected he had other plans, but he didn’t confide in her.
She stood up from her secretary, placing her hands on the small of her back and stretching. She stared at the figures she’d taken from the ledgers for hours but couldn’t see a way out of their situation.
If they did nothing, the mill would slowly grind to a halt. As it was, Duncan hadn’t paid some of his vendors and payroll was a huge outlay of dwindling cash. Even if they let the rest of the employees go, they’d still have expenses, unless they closed the doors and walked away.
The MacIain family would be among the gallantly and proudly poor.
Starving with grace had absolutely nothing to recommend it. She’d come close to doing exactly that in those last months in Washington. She had to dismiss the servants and leave the house Richard had rented. She took a room in a less genteel area of Washington in order to save money. She’d subsisted on the one meal allotted with her rent, sold all her gowns and jewelry,and contacted the legation weekly to try to arrange passage home. If they hadn’t picked up the cost of the voyage, she wouldn’t have been able to return to Scotland.
She analyzed her skills in those months, applying for positions without thought of pride or pretense. No one wanted a female bookkeeper or accountant. None of her experience at the mill was translatable to a paying position anywhere. She wasn’t a talented seamstress. Nor did she know how to trim bonnets. Factory work wasn’t an option since no manufacturing existed within walking distance.
At least when she lived in Washington she only had herself to support. Now there was an entire household.
Duncan had some investments not associated with the mill that would carry them for a few months, but what then? She didn’t have an answer other than finding employment. They had to outlast the war. Yet even once the blockade was lifted, was there any guarantee they’d be able to acquire raw cotton again? Would the Confederates win? If they did, could they produce and export cotton in time to save the mill? If they lost the war, would the fields be razed by the Union?
Everything was dependent on the Civil War, an irony that didn’t escape her. Yet the same war decimating the MacIain coffers was helping Lennox. He might even be the richest man in a city filled with wealthy men.
Did Lennox still treasure his friendships and care about people? If he did, why hadn’t he realized Duncan needed help? Why hadn’t he offered?
Duncan wouldn’t go to Lennox. His pride would prevent him from asking for help. The question was: how much pride did she have?
She stood, walked to her vanity and leaned herhands against the top, peering at her image in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. She brushed her hair into place, inserted a few more pins to keep the tendrils tamed, and applied a little salve to her lips.
She glanced toward Hillshead. Could she really go to Lennox and ask him for help?
Gloaming settled over Glasgow like a memory, making her recall a dozen times she left her house for Hillshead. Now she slipped out of the kitchen much as she had back then, smiling at Mabel and Lily before heading for the path Lennox and Duncan had worn into the grass as boys.
She hesitated at the arched bridge at the bottom of the hill. The structure had to be rebuilt every couple of years when the burn would outgrow its banks for a few weeks and become a river. Now the water gurgled and babbled as it fell over the smooth stones, as if telling her all the secrets since she’d last crossed.
She grabbed her skirts, trying to hold them away from the ground. She took the track winding through the pines, breathing in the pungent smell of the needles. Here it was almost dark, but she remembered the way.
The wind soughed
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