That night, Araminta sneaks out of the house after dark as if she’s meeting her lover. Another note appeared after the funeral, this time on Aunt Eilidh’s desk.Dismiss the staff at nine, wait until ten and come to the watchtower at St Columba’s. Win.At least this time she needn’t lie to the coachman, Araminta thinks, as she puts her gloved hands into the pockets of her thick winter coat and cuts across the square and down to the graveyard. She has trouble finding the door of the cylindrical watchtower in the absolute darkness but when she knocks the nun opens it quickly.
‘Do you want to visit Great Aunt Eilidh’s grave?’ she asks Winifred, who she identifies in the dark doorway as much by the familiar oniony smell as by her face.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Winifred snaps, ushering her into a round room lit by a single candle. The windows are shuttered. A stairway rises to the upper floor which, Araminta surmises, must enjoy a view over the graveyard. ‘I thought it better to meet here. Safer after we were assaulted the last time. Closer too. For you, in any case,’ Winifred explains. ‘Meeting at different locations means there will be no pattern to follow.’
Araminta decides not to comment on what she sees as her great aunt’s strange obsession with being observed. ‘I thought the watchtower would be in use at night,’ she says. ‘Edinburgh being famed for resurrection men.’
Winifred is pragmatic as ever. ‘I gave the watchman a few shillings and bid him leave for an hour. It’s a sair fecht to dig up a grave in this weather. The ground is as good as stone. Did you bring the map?’
Araminta confirms that she did. Too large for her pocket, she concealed it in the sleeve of her coat. She now fumbles with the buttons as Winifred takes the candle and leads her up the staircase into a room where, Araminta imagines, from the placement of the only chair, the watchman must usually sit at the window from dusk till dawn. There’s a low fire in the grate and a table with a jug of small beer, a pottery cup, two scraggy carrots and an onion. Araminta moves the vegetables so she can lay out the map. She places the scrap of Carmichael thread on top. Winifred chuckles at the perfect fit. ‘See,’ she says. ‘Eilidh made good progress. She’d have done this herself if she hadn’t been taken.’
Araminta thinks things would be far easier if Sister Winifred came to the house.
‘I’ve questions,’ she says. The candle is flickering for the windows are not sound. ‘Do you know who the people are in the oil paintings in the drawing room?’
Sister Winifred looks up. ‘You mean the Anne Forbes’?’
‘Is she one of our ancestors?’
The old nun sighs. ‘Anne Forbes was a painter. A skilled portrait painter, in fact. She remains renowned. She worked in oils.’
Araminta thinks that the paintings are rather high on the wall to be able to make out the signatures. She supposes she might have Douglas fetch them down.
‘There are several women and two men in that room,’ she says.
Winifred squints as if envisioning the walls. ‘Yes – two are by Anne Forbes, unless my sister moved or sold them. They’re of our paternal grandparents. Then there’s one by Catherine Read – a talented lass – of my maternal grandmother, I believe. She’s the one who caused all the trouble – Berenice. I don’t know who painted the others though there’s one of my mother as a lass. A male artist, I expect,’ she adds with a dismissive snort. ‘Most ofthe subjects are elderly, from memory, but forebears, yes. They came from the old place, I think, up north.’
‘Our family seat?’ Araminta asks, feeling rather grand and hopeful.
‘I’d hardly call it that, dear. It’s a ruin now.’ The old nun returns her gaze to the map. ‘You made these pinpricks, did you?’
Araminta nods.
‘You shouldn’t have. What if the map is found? You must start thinking ahead.’
Araminta ignores this comment. Winifred isn’t going to explain anyway. ‘Do you know the places that are marked?’ she asks instead.
Winifred nods. ‘It’s good Eilidh left this. You can follow her footsteps. I’d try Edinburgh Castle first.’ She puts her head to one side. ‘Find that clue and move on to the second location.’
‘Which is?’
Winifred peers. ‘It looks like it’s out towards the bowling green.’
‘And what do these clues lead to, Sister Winifred?’
The nun walks to the window and takes a seat. ‘How uncomfortable,’ she says, squirming. ‘It hits one exactly in the wrong place.’
Araminta sighs. ‘We buried her today, you know. Out there.’
‘I know.’ Winifred gives a cursory glance out of the window.
‘The funeral went well.’ Araminta does not let her great aunt off the hook. ‘There were a lot of mourners.’
Winifred turns the chair to face back into the room. ‘I’m not surprised. We knew all Edinburgh in our day. Eilidh was always skilled in society. She was direct, which is not to everyone’s taste, but for those who liked plain talking she was a godsend. She’s left you a good start, my dear. That’s the main thing. We didn’tget this far together. I must see if I can get you an introduction at the castle.’
‘I don’t need an introduction. I’m acquainted with the colonel of the regiment. The Scots Guards.’
Sister Winifred is clearly impressed. ‘Excellent,’ she says.
