The March day chosen for meeting with Lyrica Buchanan was dry with a hint of spring. Juliet walked along with Minette, wishing for more plainstanes underfoot like those the tobacco lords stood upon beneath King William’s statue. Would summer’s dust be as thick as winter’s mud? Today it seemed everyone in Glasgow had spilled out of their homes and shops to stand in the fragile sunshine.
“Watch for pickpockets,” Minette cautioned, lookingabout with a wary eye. “They often work in pairs, these thieves, and have a particular fondness for silk handkerchiefs and gold watches.”
Juliet avoided the press of people when she could but nearly came to a stop once they rounded a corner. Among all the faces before her, one leapt out. A man, hat lowered to shade his features, seemed to be staring right at her from across the street. As she met his eyes, he slipped into the crowd and vanished from view.
Riggs. He resembled Riggs.
Juliet fought the urge to flee and stood her ground. He’d only reminded her of Riggs. Nothing more. But that last night at Royal Vale still haunted her. Or perhaps it was Loveday’s rare word of caution about Lyrica that shadowed her.
The alarm of the moment soon faded as she and Minette moved into a lane of birdsong and sunlight, the crowds lessening.
“The Buchanan Street residence, where the other Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan reside, is smaller than the Virginia Street townhouse. ’Tis older, for one, and seldom used,” Minette told her as they passed beneath an avenue of shade trees. “My sister was in service there once ... until she ran away.”
Juliet looked at her in surprise. “Ran away?”
“I know not where, Madame Buchanan.”
To not know where one’s sister was? Loveday sprang to mind, their bond as close as two sisters could be. “I’m so sorry. ’Tis saddening.”
“Oui, très difficile.” Minette’s features crumpled. “She was all I had in the world. Édith was sent to attend to Madame Havilah on Virginia Street until her death, then returned to serve Madame Lyrica briefly. Much like I have been sent to you.”
“She was one of the two maids in service to them both?”Juliet recalled one name from the newspaper clearly. “The other was a Mary Andrews.”
“Two maids were needed to attend Madame Havilah as she was so ill.” Minette looked more distressed. “How did you know about the details?”
“I read some old newspapers about it. Mention was made of poisoning, which I find alarming, to say the least.”
“Oui. Poisonous powders. Calomel, perhaps.”
Juliet mulled this as they continued on. “What became of Mary?”
“Mary died soon after Madame Havilah. And then my sister left Buchanan Street.”
Juliet slowed her steps. “Was Édith unhappy in service, Minette?”
“Servants are not expected to be happy or unhappy, no?” Minette’s tone turned resigned. “It is all about pleasing one’s employer, in this case the powerful Buchanans.”
Juliet sensed Minette had finished discussing the matter, for her sudden shift in demeanor seemed a closed door. Her heart was understandably sore about her sister. The entire matter turned Juliet more skittish.
They walked on in silence for several minutes. “Paisley is nearly as grand as Ardraigh Hall, and I’m sure you’ll visit soon, madame.” Minette brightened as they turned a corner. “And then there is Lamb Hill.”
“The younger Mr. Buchanan’s country house?”
“Oui. It is newer andtrès belle. Not so far from Ardraigh Hall. And true to its name, the mansion is built on a hill surrounded by sheep.”
Once they were inside the Buchanan Street townhouse, Lyrica greeted them, ushering Juliet into a small parlor while Minette went to the servants’ hall. “Brave of you to walk about with our changeable weather. I’m so glad you’ve come.We didn’t have a chance to exchange anything but pleasantries at the lastfête.”
“Which you’ve recovered from, I hope.”
Lyrica laughed. “Being up late is something I rarely choose to do, though a fête of any kind is invariably entertaining. But enough of that. How are you adjusting to Scottish life? I hope you’re not homesick.”
“I’m so occupied I scarcely think of it.” Juliet looked toward the door as a footman brought hot chocolate rather than tea in a tall pot. Cinnamon and chiles laced the chill air. “You’re a Glaswegian?”
“Born and bred, yes. I’ve never been beyond Britain. I hear America is indeed a brave new world.”
“Full of heat and insects and fevers,” Juliet admitted, Leith’s malady in mind. “But there is beauty, too, in the wild newness of it all. I stand amazed at how many centuries of history are here. It makes one feel small. Glasgow is enormous.”
“Compared to London, Glasgow is almost a hamlet. Leith will have to take you to his townhouse in Mayfair, my favorite of all the Buchanan residences. And then there’s his Edinburgh tenement on High Street.”
