Winifred glares in annoyance. The whole point of meeting at St George’s is that the place is a fortress and close enough to Glenfinlas Street for Araminta to sneak out unseen. This kind of thing was not supposed to happen.
‘Madam, do you think to become a nun?’ Eleanor asks, glancing fearfully at Sister Winifred.
Araminta laughs. ‘This is my great aunt. Her name is Sister Winifred,’ she says. ‘She’s my great aunt Eilidh McKenzie’s sister.’
Eleanor bobs a careful curtsey and Winifred waves her off. Such niceties are neither required nor appreciated.
‘I said you were being followed,’ Winifred says, gloomily. ‘And now this.’
‘Eleanor isn’t following me,’ Araminta objects. ‘Not in the way you mean.’
Winifred casts a look at the young maid and senses something – a patch of shade. The girl is afraid, of course she would be, the old nun reasons. She has just been pulled off the street by the lug.
Eleanor’s breathing becomes uneasy. ‘Ma’am,’ she stutters, realising that she must admit what she has been up to, for if she does not do so now, her loyalty will belong to the gentlemen in the backroom at McGhie’s, and that she will not submit to. She pauses, afraid, for once she speaks Mrs Moore will dismiss her, but that at least means she can go home. A wave of shame turns her stomach. ‘Your great aunt isn’t wrong,’ she admits steadily. ‘You are being followed. By two gentlemen, and they are bad men. Oh, ma’am.’ She bursts into inconsolable tears at her disloyalty, momentarily unable to continue.
Businesslike, Winifred removes a clean, cotton handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘Here,’ she says. Eleanor uses it to cover her mouth for she can hardly bear to let the words out.
‘I’ve been terrible bad, ma’am. I’ve been very, very wicked,’ she manages.
‘I don’t believe that.’ Araminta touches Eleanor’s arm. ‘What on earth is it?’
‘They gave me money, ma’am, to tell them things.’
Winifred lets out a snort as if to say that she knew it.
‘I thought it was nothing,’ Eleanor continues, ‘but they’re dangerous. I fear they mean to rob you though they swear they never would.’
‘What have you told them, girl?’ Winifred cuts in.
‘Nothing, ma’am. Hardly anything. They asked who called at the house, what the colonel showed the mistress when she visited the castle, the books she reads...’
Araminta flops into a chair, her mind racing. People always say that you cannot trust your staff. Mrs Rundell in her book of household management mentions the matter repeatedly, but Araminta has always considered Eleanor a friend.
‘Who are these gentlemen?’ she gets out.
‘One is called Mr McGhie. Angus McGhie.’
‘The spirit merchant?’ Sister Winifred says incredulously.
Eleanor nods.
‘He’s been supplying our house for years,’ Winifred adds. ‘The snake.’
‘The other’s name is Harry, I think, though today Mr McGhie also called him Thom. He comes from London. From Kew,’ Eleanor continues. ‘He arranged for me to be placed in your household when you moved to Richmond.’
‘Mr Thom? But he’s the family friend of a girl I went to school with,’ Araminta says. ‘She vouched for you.’ Araminta then realises that Eleanor has been spying on her for more than the last few days. She’s heard of the like. Maids with secret dalliances. Maids who steal stray ha’pennies. Maids who are trusted, yet let their ladies down. She never would have thought it of Eleanor. She’s always liked the girl. Eleanor helped her when she was seasick on the ship. Eleanor held her hand in the carriage after Aunt Eilidh’s funeral. She’s plump and homely with warm green eyes. What the girl has just admitted doesn’t seem possible. Before she feels angry, Araminta simply feels hurt.
‘Thom?’ Winifred cuts in, her eyes focussing upon what is clearly a familiar name. ‘I know the Thoms. It was a blackguard called Archibald Thom who politicked poor Berenice McKenzie’s execution. There’s no such thing as coincidence. This man must be from the same family.’ Winifred makes the sign of the cross. It’s a habit she’s got into. ‘Archibald Thom’s son was a viper, likewise,’ she adds. ‘All the Thoms are. They keep a place at Kew, for the botanic garden. They have family holdings in apothecary’s equipment. I don’t know how they found you, Araminta, dear. Eilidh and I kept your existence secret. You know him, you say? From London?’
Araminta nods. Eleanor wipes her nose with the handkerchief. ‘I’ll leave immediately, ma’am,’ she offers. ‘I’ll pack my bag tonight. Mrs Rhodes can send on my things from Richmond. Inever meant to do anything wrong. They offered me a shilling a month and now it’s got out of hand. I thought he was a jilted suitor. Something stupid like that.’
Winifred lets out another snort as Eleanor backs towards the door but Araminta stops the girl by lifting a single finger. She stares at the maid as she runs through the last three years of Eleanor’s service, her interest in the books Araminta bought, the routine at the house in Richmond, the details of Araminta’s life. She thought Eleanor cared for her out of devotion – not in an equal friendship, but good-spirited.
‘All this time you were spying on me.’ Her voice breaks a little. ‘And taking money for it...’
A tear rolls down Eleanor’s cheek. She nods.
‘How dare you!’ Araminta swallows. She wants to lash out. Of course the girl will have to leave. She’s not even comfortable with the maid staying in the house tonight. She feels a lump in her throat but she’s determined she won’t cry while Eleanor remains in the room. Winifred squeezes her great niece’s hand. It’s been a shock, but there’s a greater significance that Araminta doesn’t yet understand.
