Sister Winifred folds the map and takes another swig of sherry. ‘Do you have questions?’
Araminta raises her eyes as if to say of course she has.
‘The men lost the honours too,’ Winifred offers. ‘After the Act of Union was signed. The Scottish aristocracy was determined the English should not remove the crown. I think at that point, had things been different, the McKenzie women might have returned the Queen’s Jewels. However, circumstances conspired against it. They walled up the King’s Honours in 1707; the ones you saw in the castle’s strongroom. Over the years they were forgotten. The regiments at the castle often change. It was Walter Scott who tracked the King’s Jewels, though Eilidh and I gave him a nudge. I was in Edinburgh, that day,’ she adds wistfully. ‘Not at the castle, but at the party afterwards.’
‘I don’t know enough about history,’ Araminta admits. ‘I read one of Great Aunt Eilidh’s books last night but it didn’t tell me much.’
‘Books seldom do,’ Winifred says sadly. ‘Oftentimes, as a lady, I find the meaning between the lines.’ She lapses into French – quoting from a manuscript she’s been studying in the convent library. ‘L’histoire est juste peut-être, mais... elle a été écrite par les vainqueurs.’Noticing Araminta’s inability to understand, she translates, ‘History may be just, but it was written by the victors. In this case that means English men and Scottish men. Hanoverians of late. When the queen’s crown was first sent away, nobody would have been able to foresee any of this. It was a complicated time. I often think that 1647 is the dullest, most complicated year on record. Then Cromwell triumphed. He was a woman hater. Well, he hated everything. And the crown was threatened.’
‘I understand why it was sent away,’ Araminta chimes. ‘I don’t understand why we kept it. Catherine of Braganza,’ she adds.
Winifred waves a hand dismissively. ‘Personality, merely. The McKenzies didn’t judge her a worthy queen. But as I say, I think in 1707 there must have been a thought it’d be handed over. Queen Anne was on the throne and she wasn’t a bad egg, though she lost the Stuarts the crown for none of her children lived, poor thing. Still, the Act of Union put everybody’s nose out of joint. It really wasn’t supported. Then only a few years later, the Hanoverians took the throne on Anne’s death and they were Germans, you see. Royal cousins, but distant. You were concerned that the McKenzies have been Jacobites but really George the First’s ascension was a travesty. They overlooked a lot of royal blood, Catholic or not. Berenice was only doing her best. She knew after Culloden she’d be arrested, and perhaps Mhairi too, and that she must comprehensively hide the crown in a way that might not be got out of her under torture. She chose to do it... like this,’ Winifred gesticulates at the map. ‘It’s really been bad luck. Were the jewels in our possession in 1818 when Scott unearthed the honours in Edinburgh Castle, Eilidhand I would definitely have unveiled the crown. We’d have got away with its loss being a triumph, rather as Scott did. Amid the celebration there were few questions asked. But alas...’
Araminta sighs and Winifred offers her the hip flask.
‘No. Thank you.’
‘I’m really very sorry this has fallen to you,’ the old nun adds.
Araminta thinks she’s found something in Edinburgh she didn’t expect. A part of herself that’s always been missing. She wants to be a McKenzie. She wants to regain the family honour. ‘Was Berenice tortured?’ she asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Winifred nods. ‘She told Archibald Thom nothing. But again, she can’t have known she’d have the strength to withhold. What she did was probably for the best.’
‘And her sister?’
‘Mhairi escaped that particular indignity. Most of the women who had supported the Bonnie Prince were fined. She paid a hundred pounds – a great deal more in those days than it is now. Three years later she was dead. A carriage accident on the way to Duddingston Kirk, not far from where your mother died. I expect Mhairi was trying to unravel Berenice’s first clue – as we all were for the following decades. McKenzie women tramped around Arthur’s Seat a thousand times. My sister only uncovered it because she realised an old cairn had been moved. This made sense of the first clue, and we were off. Not exactly like greyhounds after a rabbit,’ she chortles, ‘but we had begun. We’ll win this like a game of chess if we win it at all.’
Araminta is about to say something about how she intends to win. About how different she feels now she knows where she comes from. But there’s a knock, distant, at the church door. Both women start and Araminta hides the map inside her sleeve. ‘I’ll go,’ she says.
When she returns, ushering Eleanor before her, Winifred feels an unaccountable sense of relief.
‘Good heavens, where have you been, Eleanor? I hear the household has been in a state of alarm,’ Winifred says.
‘Mr Thom tried to strangle me, ma’am,’ Eleanor gets out. ‘I had to disappear. I knew you’d be here at ten of the clock. I came the back way out the mews and up Queensferry Street. Nobody saw me.’
‘Are you all right?’
Eleanor nods. She turns to Araminta. ‘Mr Thom’s been paying the carriage man, ma’am. That’s how he knew we’d been to the castle.’
A flash of anger lights Araminta’s eyes. Is there nobody she can trust? Eleanor continues.
‘I talked him round. Davey, that is. He’s on your side when it comes to it. I didn’t manage to tell the falsehood to Mr Thom, but Davey did. He said you went to a house across the Water of Leith. He’ll tell them whatever you like.’
Araminta thinks for a moment. ‘That’s good,’ she manages, tight-lipped. ‘Well done.’
Winifred thinks that her niece appears to have a strange attitude to what’s important. People, as Mother often says at the convent, are the Lord’s true treasure. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Eleanor has been hurt today, and not only physically. But then, Araminta’s been hurt too. Winifred recalls last night and her great niece’s cheeks pink with tears. Still.
‘We must keep you safe, Eleanor,’ Winifred says. ‘That must have been a frightening experience.’
Eleanor is grateful for the nun’s concern. She elaborates, talking in a rush. ‘Mr Thom was furious angry, ma’am. He said he’d pursue me if I ran. He wants me to report to him every day. But I can’t go back there. I won’t.’ Her jaw juts defiantly. ‘He’s set to kill me.’
Sister Winifred takes this in. ‘You must come with me,’ she offers.
The young maid looks nervous but her mistress replies for her. ‘Yes. That would be wise,’ Araminta cuts in. ‘I’ll make up some nonsense to Mr Brodie and call off the search.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Winifred insists. ‘Think for heaven’s sake. They’ve two of your staff in their pay. There could be a third or more. I’ll hide Eleanor with my sisters but you keep folk looking for her. If we’re lucky Thom will take up the chase, which will distract his attention from you, my dear. Perhaps you and I might investigate this latest clue, Eleanor,’ Winifred suggests. ‘It amazes me that nuns are invisible beings. I used to think they were like angels, but now, I know a good deal more about nuns.’ Her eyes sparkle. ‘You’ll be safe in the convent.’
‘I was hiding in the mews,’ Eleanor starts. ‘I could stay there if it’s inconvenient. Davey wouldn’t mind.’
