“You’ve made that shine,” he told her. “I can fairly see my face in it. Well done.”

Lily wheeled and caught his smile’s edge as he carried on and through the door that led directly from the house into his shop, and the warm approval in that smile made her feel tall with pride.

Behind her, a girl’s voice said, “He doesn’t praise people often. He likes you.”

Again Lily turned.

Mr. Bell’s daughter, Marion, was two years older than Lily. Her hair gleamed a beautiful black, and her eyes had the same rich brown warmth as the swordslipper’s. She hadn’t spoken to Lily much, but Lily guessed this was less from aloofness than shyness.

The fact that she’d spoken now made this a special occasion, and one that demanded an answer, so Lily replied, “I am glad my work pleases him.”

“Father is very exacting,” said Marion, taking another step into the room with a tentative smile. “Mother says he would do very well in the army.” From the pictures and portraits that hung on the drawing room wall, she singled out one of a very young man in a grey coat, his face set in serious lines, and said, “My brother is now in the army, and fighting away from us.”

More than shyness, then. Loneliness. Lily knew all about missing the people you loved.

Lily said, “He looks brave. And his portrait is well placed.”

The other girl asked, “Why is that?”

Lily pointed out it was between a framed print of the king and a smaller but fine oval portrait of the great Montrose. “He is in gallant company.”

“Aye,” said Marion, thoughtfully. Then, “You’ll forgive me, but…I know the king, of course, but…who’s Montrose?”

Lily’s eyes widened, but she knew better than to say the first thing that came to her mind since it would not be seemly to question her mistress nor forget her place, so instead she retold the whole tale as she’d learned it herself from the Moray girls when they’d played school with her at Abercairney.

Marion’s reaction was the same as hers had been. “I wish that he had stayed where he was safe, in Norway. Why did he return?”

Lily had asked her father that same question once. She gave his answer now. “Because he made an oath to see the king restored, and could not then abandon him.”

“But,” countered Marion, “the king abandoned Montrose. They all did.”

“No, not all. He had one true friend,” Lily said. “The Laird of Inchbrakie. My grandmother serves him, and he is a good man.”

This pacified Marion. “It is enough, I suppose, to have one true friend.”

Her smile was small, but hopeful.

* * *

Mr. Bell feigned confusion. “I thought I had only one daughter, but here there are two of you.”

Lily looked up from her work and flushed, pleased by his attention. She’d been set to do a very special job for him this morning and was polishing a fine array of cutlery he’d crafted. Nanse had laid it on thick paper on the table in the dining room and given her the polish and the cloth and Lily had been taking extra care and giving the task all her concentration, although Marion had come to keep her company.