Grizel folds her arms. ‘I don’t see,’ she states plainly. But Winifred doesn’t explain. Instead, she opens the leather wallet once more and slips her finger behind the paintings. There’s nothing in the half with the image of Thom’s mother, but stuck down the back of St Giles is a slip of wood. It’s painted with a crest, rather grand with gilded edges and beautifully finished.
‘Some kind of... order.’ Winifred pulls it out. ‘The Order of the Hermit.’ She tries the words. ‘Funny... I can’t see St Giles as a woman hater.’ She recalls vaguely that Giles is the patron saint, among other things, of nursing mothers.
Grizel perches on the edge of the bed. ‘I thought St Paul was the hermit,’ she says. ‘There really are too many saints!’
Grizel always had a sense of humour. Winifred’s lips are just stretching into a smile when the door to the bedroom opens and Harry Thom stands in the doorway, a walking cane in his gloved hand.
‘Mistress Campbell,’ he greets his landlady. Then his eyes light as they land on Winifred. ‘Sister,’ he growls, recognising her immediately despite her change of clothing. He snatches the sliver of wood from Winifred’s fingers and puts it in his pocket.
‘We’re cleaning,’ Grizel says weakly.
The little maid appears in the doorway, too late to warn the women. Thom closes the door in her face. ‘Well, well,’ he says, stationing himself so there can be no prospect of an exit.
‘I thought you were out for the day, sir,’ Grizel adds.
‘Clearly,’ Thom says drily. He’s not interested in her though, his full attention coming to rest upon Winifred. ‘I’d like to know what you disinterred on the Links yesterday, Sister.’
Winifred decides not to deny it. ‘You must know I’ll not divulge that, Mr Thom.’
Thom manages to smile without looking happy. ‘Then I shall whip it out of you,’ he snarls. ‘If that’s how it has to be. I’ve had enough of your cloak and dagger.’
Grizel steps between the lodger and her friend. ‘We don’t allow that kind of talk in this house,’ she says. ‘Not to anyone, but especially not a sister in holy orders.’
‘I don’t give a damn what you allow, madam. I’ll have the clue this woman uncovered and she shall give it to me.’
He raises his walking stick to make the threat clear.
Winifred sighs. She moves her friend to one side gently as if she’s sweeping aside a curtain. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she says, staring Thom down.
Grizel tries to push past him to the door. ‘Freddie!’ She manages to call her husband’s name before Thom strikes her with the stick and she falls with a thump. Winifred punches Thom in the stomach, realising immediately that wearing a dress with a bodice restricts her movements in a way to which she is now unaccustomed. Before she can catch her breath and strike again, Thom turns her as if she’s a mannequin and holds her in front of him with his arm round her throat.
‘What did you find? The next clue?’ he growls. ‘Tell me.’
Winifred doesn’t hesitate. She moves her body behind his with one elegant step and uses her weight to force him to the floor. A cross might be a target, but that doesn’t mean she’ll standstill for him to aim at. Grizel gets up and with Thom down, she staggers out of the room, shouting her husband’s name all the way down the stairs. Far off, Winifred hears the door to the street bang. She only has to last a minute or two, she thinks, before her friend will return with help. She can certainly manage that. Thom pushes her over, manoeuvring his body on top. It’s been a long time since she’s felt the weight of a man, and with surprise she realises he’s hard. She struggles as he searches her frame, running his hand down the line of the bodice. ‘Get off me,’ she squeals.
‘You hag,’ he spits. ‘What would I want with a crone such as you?’ He pulls up her skirts roughly and easily uncovers the gold box. Taking the idea from Eleanor, Winifred secured it this morning inside the top of her stocking, bound in place with a short length of ribbon. ‘Ha!’ He’s triumphant. He kisses her wetly on the cheek. Rather than disgust, Winifred feels a wave of fury. She kicks out, making to trip him as he goes for the door, but he dodges the ploy and stamps on her stomach, hard. There’s a sudden, sickening crack. Winifred cries out and Thom laughs, barrelling down the stairs with the box in his hand. Winifred manages to haul herself to her feet and holding on to the bedstead tries to get to the door. The hallway brightens beneath as Thom makes it outside. She screams in frustration. Another thirty seconds and Frederick Campbell flings open the door below and belts up the stairs.
‘He ran!’ she shouts. ‘See if you can get him. He took something. A little box!’
Mr Campbell turns and Grizel enters the hallway behind her husband as he disappears outside.
‘I think I broke a bone,’ Winifred manages, holding on to her old friend for support.
Grizel helps her to the edge of the bed and gingerly checks over her friend with gentle fingers. Winifred yelps.
‘That bastard,’ Grizel curses. ‘He won’t get back in here.’
Winifred edges backwards so she’s supported by the mattress. Grizel tends to the pillows. ‘I’ll send for the doctor.’
‘Not Anderson,’ Winifred cuts in. She doesn’t want the McKenzie family doctor.
‘There’s a fellow on Queen Street,’ Grizel suggests. ‘I’ve heard he’s good.’
‘I need to get a message to my niece.’
‘Your niece?’ Grizel sounds amazed.
‘Great niece. Grainne’s girl.’
