‘Madam?’ Brodie enquires. He wonders if he ought to add,Is that from your great aunt?for he knows it is. He recognises the handwriting.But he’s held back by years of never intruding on the women who people this drawing room.
‘That’ll be all,’ Araminta replies. Then as Brodie approaches the door, she calls, ‘Send for the carriage, would you?’ Damn the notion of waiting until ten of the clock. She wants to see her aunt now.
Outside, though it’s daylight, the moon is a white nick on the blue sky, Jupiter shining above it like a lantern. As she mounts the carriage, the shape reminds Araminta of a mark her fingernail made once on Johnathan’s skin as she held on to him. It occurs to her how much she’s changed since she left Richmond. On departure she felt her husband had abandoned her. Now she feels that he trusts her. At least, she hopes he does. Ten minutes later, Davey deposits her outside the boarding house and she raps on the door. Grizel and the maid both being occupied, Mr Campbell answers. He directs Araminta to the lodging rooms on the second floor where Winifred is tucked into bed. The doctor has set the old woman’s rib. Having refreshed the linens and brought up a potpourri of dried gorse and lemon peel, the tiny maid is clearing Thom’s things, packing his clothes into his trunk, dusting as she goes. Winifred is methodically working through Thom’s books, paying particular attention to the marginalia. Apart from passages that denigrate women (sometimes underlined twice) it would seem he also paid attention to arcane symbolism. Waning moons, goats, candle magic and the like. The old nun sighs loudly and lays down a particularly heavy tome on the mattress, listening to Araminta’s steps rising on the stair. Grizel has gone to fetch the locksmith to secure the door so Thom will not be able to return, and Winifred is surprised when it is her great niece who enters the bedroom.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was concerned,’ Araminta admits, taking in the incongruity of the nun, tucked in bed, wearing a pale-pink, brushed cotton nightgown with a ruffle at the shoulder.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ Winifred chides sternly.
Araminta looks round. ‘He was here, then?’
‘He lodged here. These are his things.’ Winifred gesticulates beyond the edge of the bed. ‘I doubt he’ll return. We uncovered him.’
‘Still, to stay must be dangerous. Wouldn’t it be better to make up a room at Glenfinlas Street? We have more staff.’ Araminta’s eye falls to the maid, who’s not stopped working.
‘I’ll never go back to that house,’ Winifred says flatly. ‘Nor would I lead him to the nunnery. This place belongs to a friend. She’s been kind to me.’
Araminta doesn’t push the old woman as to why she will not come home. ‘All right,’ she says. ‘Tell me what happened.’
In this, Winifred is more forthcoming. ‘My rib’s broken. The doctor’s bound it. It’ll heal in time.’
‘Can you walk?’
The nun gives a little shrug. ‘It’ll be painful,’ she adds vaguely. ‘Perhaps I might rise with the help of a stick. It’s a victory for Thom, anyway.’
‘He got away with the box?’
‘Yes. So he knows the clue. The tenth. You must solve the riddle first, Araminta.’
Araminta pulls a chair to the bedside. She leans in, whispering so the maid won’t hear. ‘I returned to the house on the High Street. There are frescoes on the plaster – two women. Both long dead. One must be Mistress Maitland, the other’s a mystery.’
‘And the grave?’
‘I enquired at St Giles’ but they don’t know where she was buried. Perhaps Greyfriars Kirkyard, but I can’t find her stone. I’ve engaged a fellow who works in the library to search the parish records.’
‘Can you trust him?’
Araminta raises her hands to indicate that she can’t tell. ‘Women aren’t admitted to the library.’
‘Pah!’ In her time at the convent, Winifred has almost forgotten the restrictions placed on her sex. In a world of women, the library is open to all, no doors barred, no jobunsuitable. She herself has acted as a notary on her sisters’ behalf. ‘Such nonsense!’ she grumbles.
Araminta sits back. ‘You know, you’ve told me nothing about my mother,’ she says.
Winifred shifts. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I never knew her. I’m curious. Did she ever live at Glenfinlas Street?’
‘For a short while. She married your father but he was stationed abroad and didn’t expect her to follow him.’
‘What was she like?’
Winifred regards her great niece. ‘A little like you,’ she admits. ‘Pale. Determined. Clever.’
Araminta smiles at these compliments.
‘She liked to ride. She liked green tea, as I recall, and fruit cake and game pie. She recited poetry well.’
