‘I knew Grainne had married but she died so young.’
‘We kept it quiet,’ Winifred admits. ‘Mr Thom is not the first man to take an interest in our family affairs.’
Grizel asks nothing further. ‘You’ll stay here, of course,’ she says. ‘Moving you will be difficult and he’ll not be back. I’ll send the girl for the doctor.’
They hear Frederick Campbell enter below. He’s breathing heavily as he comes up. ‘I lost him,’ he says. ‘There was no sign outside. He’s either jumped over the railings into the garden or dodged down one of the streets off St Andrew Square. I’m sorry.’
Winifred moans. ‘Thanks for trying.’
‘I can put the word round the district,’ Campbell offers.
Winifred considers this. ‘Only folk you can trust,’ she says.
Campbell nods, taking orders easily. A good man, as Grizel said. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he adds and disappears.
‘I’ll send the maid for the doctor and fetch you a pen and ink to get a note over to...’
‘Araminta.’
She smiles. ‘Lovely. McKenzie?’
‘McKenzie Moore,’ Winifred says. ‘I want to search the rest of Thom’s things,’ she adds.
‘Right you are.’
‘And Grizel, thank you for being such a good friend.’
Grizel squeezes the old nun’s fingers. ‘You were a good friend to me,’ she says and sets off downstairs to get matters started.
*
Harry Thom squats on the mews behind Abercromby Place, heaving for breath. As his mind races, he runs through the items in his possession at the boarding house and decides there’s nothing that reveals his mission. Some books. The order’s crest. Nothing explicit. He puts his hand to his jacket pocket. Earlier, he picked up a missive that arrived this morning from the Grand Master. Now he opens it.The palace is set upon the young princess for the crown. William’s health is failing. You must do what you need to for this crown they are said to have is queen’s business. And there is more to it, I’m sure. Behave as if I am beside you. These women may be sorceresses of the ages. Do what you must.Thom pauses momentarily as the weight of this injunction settles upon him. He’s been in the right to pursue the McKenzies with more vigour, then, and he is certainly getting closer by putting his back into it. A maid passes on her way to an outhouse and he leers as she hurries on, casting a glance over her shoulder. But he’s no time to exploit such fripperies now. There’s a fire burning in a brazier outside one of the mews. He casts the Grand Master’s letter into it, just in case. He wouldn’t like the McKenzies to read it. Thom’s resolve hardens further in the flames. Sorceresses indeed. Witches by another name. He’ll redouble his efforts. He’ll do, as the Grand Master suggests; whatever he needs to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Araminta has promoted Agnes to assist in Eleanor’s old tasks. The girl isn’t competent and dressing has become a trial of fighting in and out of the mistress’s clothes. It’s only the second day but there’s been little sign of improvement and Araminta has decided not to let Agnes loose on the dressing of her hair. When she returns from the High Street, she lingers in the drawing room, searching for Aunt Eilidh’s copy of the Maitland quarto and pulling out books that detail any facet of the reign of Mary Queen of Scots. Almost all the Maitland poems are written in Scots and Araminta struggles, though her education in French helps and she finds if she sounds the words she can tell their meaning. Within the first hour it’s clear she’s drawn to the poetry that’s marked ‘anonymous’; passionate declamations of love and lust that make her think of her husband. It reminds her of the work of John Donne which she studied in Mary-le-Bone. If there’s women’s work here, she thinks, it’ll not be given a name. There are several, she suspects, alongside poems by the Maitland men and even the king. In earlier days, it seems, political life was compatible with the writing of verse. Araminta struggles to imagine Charles Gray or Lord Melbourne indulging themselves this way, but then, she chides herself, you never can tell a person’s private life from their public persona.
Brodie loiters, fetching ham and cheese and a bottle of sherry from the cellar. ‘Delicious! I’d never have paired these,’ Araminta comments, and the butler blushes.
‘The sherry was a favourite of your great aunt,’ he replies.
‘She had none among her decanters.’
‘I didn’t mean Mistress Eilidh, ma’am, but her sister, who had a sweeter tooth.’ The butler drops in this detail as if it’s nothing, for he’s burrowing an opening into a conversation he wishes to have.
Araminta glances at him. It’ll seem odd, she thinks, not to enquire. Brodie waits. It’s his job. He can wait as long as he has to.
‘What was she like?’ Araminta ventures carefully.
‘An elegant lady. She favoured the colour green. She made the cape to which you’ve taken a fancy.’
‘She didn’t mention that.’ The words are out before Araminta can stop them.
‘Madam?’
‘Nothing.’
He’s about to admit that he’s seen the women at night twice now. Perhaps even offer his assistance. But the front door bell sounds and he must answer it. He brings up a note on a salver and Araminta slits the seal. She sits straight as a willow stem as she reads.Beware. Thom has the box. I am injured but in good hands. You must solve it before he does. Come tonight at the usual time. 11 North St David Street.She rises and consults the map. North St David Street isn’t far. Efficiently, she crosses the room and burns the note in the grate, watching as it darkens to ash.
