Violet agreed she would not. “I should find it tedious to be forever planted in one spot. Would not you, Mrs. Graeme?”

Lily said, “If I were planted somewhere with a view that let me look on something beautiful each day, I might be happy. I suppose it would depend upon what sort of tree.”

“Perhaps one,” I suggested, “like the yew tree at Inchbrakie. It did seem to lead an interesting life.”

The smile she sent across the table stole my breath.

She said, “Exactly that.”

I smiled back at her, and earned myself another glance from Gilroy, who said idly, “We did meet an old acquaintance of yours, Mrs. Graeme, down at Leith this morning. Henry Browne. He sends you his regards.” Another lie, for Henry had sent nothing of the sort, but if Gilroy had hoped to provoke some kind of reaction from that comment, he was disappointed.

Lily said, “I do return them. How is Henry?”

I assured her, “Well. He did seem well.”

“I am glad.”

She said no more, but Helen, ever curious, asked, “Was it a productive visit?”

Gilroy answered, “It amounted to reliving the late revolution, for the most part.”

Violet bemoaned being too young to now recall anything of those times. “Besides, we were still living then at Philadelphia, so all our news came afterwards. I did read some parts later, though. The siege of your great castle here in Edinburgh, when the Jacobite duke refused to surrender it, did sound a very great adventure. So romantic.”

Gilroy said, “It was a great deal less adventurous and romantic to live through.”

Violet laughed, and turned to me. “Surely you don’t agree? But no, of course you’d not have been here either, would you? You were in New York then, fighting on a different field.”

MacDougall served our second courses, but that failed to save me from becoming the new focus of attention.

Gilroy asked, “What’s this?”

Violet replied, “Yes, he was born in Kirkcaldy, but like me, he was raised in America. In New York province.” She said that with a light stamp of possession, as though by that shared experience she had more right to claim me by that bond, and though she did not look at Lily while she said it, I could hear the gauntlet dropping.

Gilroy said, “Indeed.” And then, to me, “When were you in New York?”

Even Lily’s blue eyes showed a light of interest.

I was torn. I did not like to talk about those days. One of the young Moray girls who’d played at teaching Lily had once told her that their father had said men who’d truly seen war seldom spoke of it, and that had been my truth. I rarely spoke of what I’d witnessed. What I’d done.

I could talk of my comrades. I’d had those—one, in particular. And I had to talk of something, for with both Violet and Helen asking questions of me, it would have been rude to answer nothing.