“Lord, I never seen anything like this…” she exclaimed in a voice that drew the attention of others as they passed by.
“I mean, I seen parts of Edinburgh but nothin’ like this. And the train!” She leaned in close as if to share a secret. “It has leather seats and velvet on the walls. I ain’t never seen…”
“Ye have never seen anything like it!” Munro corrected her quite to my surprise.
“That’s right. I never seen anything like it.”
Munro’s gaze rolled skyward. It seemed that it might have been a most interesting journey from Edinburgh.
“And there was food. Can ye imagine, Miss Forsythe? I never seen such…” She corrected herself. “I have never seen such.”
Actually, I could imagine as I had the opportunity with Brodie to experience dining aboard the train on our recent return from the North to London.
When I had asked Munro if he would return to Edinburgh to escort Lily to London I had included funds for train fare, his stay at the Waverley Hotel, and more than enough to see that Lily had clothes to wear for the journey other than the maid’s uniform from the brothel or the threadbare clothes she was wearing when last I saw her.
He had come up to the mark somewhat in that she now wore a young lady’s traveling costume of skirt, shirtwaist and jacket that almost fit her.
I was reminded that at fourteen years, as best Lily could remember, she was at that between age; between child and young woman.
“And there was so much food!” she continued excitedly. “I tried to put some biscuits in this,” she held up a lady’s reticule. “But Mr. Munro said as how there was plenty of food where I was goin’, that I didna need to pinch none.”
I looked over at Munro who appeared as if he might be about to have apoplexy, and suggested that we find a coach.
We reached the carriage queue as another party had just arrived. I gave the driver the location for my aunt’s residence at Sussex Square as I wanted to speak with my sister regarding gallery photographers she might know of as the two photographs were of excellent quality not usually found in street photographs.
That of course raised all of my questions all over again. Most importantly, for what reason was Amelia Mainwaring killed and then posed in that horrible way? What was the purpose?
Motive, means, and opportunity, I kept turning them over in my mind as I listened to Lily’s excited chatter about the trip from Edinburgh.
“Sussex Square?” Munro repeated.
“My sister is there assisting with the planning for the All Hallows party. I need to speak with her about a matter in the new inquiry we’ve undertaken.”
And it seemed as good a time as any to introduce Lily to both Linnie and my aunt.
She chatted on about her adventure traveling from Edinburgh. She had never been on a train before, and most of the other passengers werequite respectable.
“They even have a small room if ye need to relieve yerself,” she continued. “Mr. Munro explained how everything worked.”
She grinned at him. He mumbled something and fixed his gaze out the side window of the coach.
Oh, my. This was certainly going to be an adventure.
Lily grew quieter the closer we came to Sussex Square, her eyes wide as she leaned out of the coach and stared at the estates and manor houses we passed. Her eyes widened even further as the driver turned the coach in through the front gates.
“Crivvens,” she exclaimed in thick Scots Gaelic. “Is this the Queen’s palace?”
I had never thought of it as such. For my sister and myself, it was our great aunt’s home where she took us to live after the death of both our parents. My travels to foreign places had given me a new perspective on how other people lived.
However, I supposed that having lived as Lily had, much the same as Brodie and Munro, and now seeing Sussex Square for the first time, it might seem like a palace.
To be certain it was a several hundred years oldpalacethat had only recently— I used the term liberally as it was actually within the last few decades — acquired inside plumbing, electric, and the cursed telephone as my aunt referred to it. And then there was the new addition she was planning. Progress to be certain.
“This is where my aunt lives,” I explained as the coach rolled to a stop before the main entrance at Sussex Square. “My sister and I lived here at one time.”
“Is yer aunt a duchess?”
I had never really thought of her as that. She had always been our aunt, someone who loved us, cared for us, tolerated our differences, and saw to it that we were educated.
