‘Mary Queen of Scots! Our most hopeless queen.’ Grizel can’t contain herself. ‘French,’ she sniffs. ‘Like Charles Edward Stuart. Don’t think I can’t see what they’ve done here with the perspective. And the dove. Such a Catholic symbol!’
‘Mother wasn’t a Catholic,’ Winifred says matter-of-factly. ‘It is odd that they’ve painted the dove above her head like that. I never thought of it before.’ She squints. ‘What do you mean about the perspective?’
‘The palace gate.’ Grizel points. ‘It’s in the wrong place.’
Winifred’s eyes meet Araminta’s. She draws herself up. ‘Do you know,’ she says, ‘I feel much better. Eleanor, could you help me dress? I think it’s time to leave.’
Grizel’s cheeks burn. She owes Saoirse McKenzie a great deal and feels guilty that she resents her staying these few days, and worse, now her feelings are apparent. ‘I didn’t mean...’ she starts. ‘I just don’t understand why you keep casting up this divisive nonsense... the Jacobites are done with.’
Winifred clasps Grizel’s pink fingers. ‘They are, dear,’ she agrees. ‘Please, don’t exercise yourself. You’re quite right. You’ve been good to me. Thank you. It’s kind of you to have had me to stay.’
Grizel finds Winifred’s kindness overwhelming as the old nun intended and cannot object. Araminta gestures for Brodie and Davey to remove the picture and the mirror. They leave in a clatter as Eleanor looks about for Winifred’s clothes.
‘I rather miss my wimple,’ Winifred says and touches her hair. ‘Might I borrow your dress, Grizel?’ she asks. ‘I’ll have it laundered and returned of course.’
‘Please take whatever you need. Oh dear,’ Grizel says, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I owe you such a lot...’
Winifred doesn’t let her continue. She gives her old friend a hug to forestall any further outburst, then motions to Eleanor to assist her into the frock and fetch a wrap from the back of thechair. ‘We’re only going as far as Glenfinlas Street to start with,’ she says. ‘This will be fine. You’ll forward any messages?’
Grizel looks defeated and merely nods.
In the carriage, Araminta takes her great aunt’s hand. ‘I don’t understand what she was cross about.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Winifred replies. ‘It’s all in the past.’
Araminta doesn’t question this. Still, it seems, in Edinburgh, the past is ever present. Winifred winces. The rocking of the cab makes her ribs ache, but no more than she can bear. At Glenfinlas Street, Winifred lets Brodie help her onto the pavement. ‘Can you manage the stairs, ma’am?’ he asks and she doesn’t correct his address to ‘Sister’. ‘Araminta will help me,’ she replies stoutly and loiters on the doorstep, hoping it’s not going to be as difficult to walk through the door as she’s always dreaded.
In the hallway, she relaxes into the smell of Cook’s stock pot that has snaked up from the kitchen and recalls the light tumbling down the staircase from above as if it’s an old friend. They go up to the first floor slowly, step by step, past the white marble statue and the golden mirror and the family crest. On the landing, Winifred stops to wipe away the single tear she has allowed herself.
‘Bring tea and cake, would you?’ Araminta instructs the butler and then lays her hand on her great aunt’s back to guide her into the drawing room. She fetches pillows to make a day bed of the sopha and instructs Eleanor to look out a set of better clothes.
‘We can’t replace your robes,’ she adds, with some practicality, ‘but I think we can find something warmer, perhaps.’
Winifred eases herself onto the pillows. ‘A map, dear,’ she orders, to the point as ever.
Araminta scrambles among Eilidh’s things, up and down the library ladder, and finds a map of Linlithgow that is fifty years old, perhaps. She lays it on the carpet in front of the sopha,weighting the edges with the ornaments of ancient goddesses retrieved from the ledge. A weighty Aphrodite tumbles to one side.
‘It’s only a single street,’ she says. ‘With a church and the palace. There’s not much to the place.’ She squints at the writing which is rather small. ‘Ruin of Linlithgow Palace,’ she reads, placing her forefinger on the outline. ‘I wonder how much of it’s still there.’
‘Let’s hope the crown is. Berenice chose a fitting place to hide it, in the end. Twenty miles of road will take two hours in this weather, if we’re lucky.’ Winifred scrutinises the map. Her forehead rumples. ‘How curious. The riggs running from each property in the town are named.’ She has, she knows, no prospect of being able to read the tiny script without a glass. ‘Each house has its own plot then. And there’s no sign of the palace gate. If it’s been painted wrong, there’ll be a reason.’
Araminta shakes her head. ‘The palace is shown as a footprint is all, but when we get there, perhaps we should dig where the gate is shown in the picture.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Winifred says. ‘We must go in the light. We can leave at dawn.’ She settles onto the cushions and closes her eyes.
Araminta sneaks to the desk and pulls out her notebook and pencil:
Aunt Eilidh left me a tartan kerchief.
Clue 8 led to the castle.
Clue 9 from the castle to Heriot’s: a third point on the triangle.
Clue 10The third point was a plague pit.
Clue 11 Inverted, the point led to the Maitland house. Which led to the insignia of St Giles’ roof on a grave.
Clue 12 Roses in a picture frame led to Clementina revealed in a mirror.
