Davey happily digs no further. Eleanor has no qualms about misdirection but draws the line at outright lies, except in the necessary matter of Messrs McGhie and Thom. By the time they’ve finished talking, he’s agreed to misdirect the gentlemen in the same way Eleanor plans to. The pair of them will back each other up.
At the foot of Hanover Street, she hops out of the carriage.
‘You’d best get back,’ she says. Davey tips his hat and watches as Eleanor starts along Princes Street. Then he turns in the direction of the West End. It’s been an eventful morning. A few doors along, Eleanor glances back to check the carriage has gone. She hopes that with Davey on her side, the mistress’s story might wash. Still, her hands shake as she approaches number two. She stops before the window to pluck up her courage, then lays a hand to the door knob. Inside, the boy directs her to the back room where today, Mr McGhie is sober. He doesn’t refer to what happened the last time.
‘Miss Thrale,’ he greets her, businesslike. ‘What news?’
‘You owe me two shillings and two more, sir,’ Eleanor says. ‘For you did not pay me last night.’
‘Ah yes.’ McGhie is unperturbed and sorts four coins from his pocket, laying them in an untidy pile at the corner of his desk – something for the girl to aim at. ‘What’s your mistress been up to then? Come on, earn your keep.’
‘She’s been reading in her great aunt’s library and became excited when she received a letter this morning.’
‘A letter?’
‘She ordered the carriage round directly, sir, but didn’t take me with her. I’m not sure where she went. I thought to ask in the kitchen, later.’
‘The kitchen?’
‘When the staff are at dinner. One of the others might know. Or I could engage the carriage man in conversation. I could go to the mews on a pretext, sir.’
McGhie waves off this suggestion for reasons that are obvious to Eleanor now. ‘She went without you?’ he double-checks.
Eleanor knows this is unusual though not unheard of; a lady unaccompanied in her carriage. He’s right though, Mrs Mooregenerally takes Eleanor when she goes out, or at least she did until last night. ‘Where’s the other gentleman?’ she asks.
McGhie glares. ‘That’s none of your concern.’ But Eleanor’s question is answered nonetheless when the shop door opens beyond the glass partition and Mr Thom, his face like thunder, storms into the rear office.
‘Sir,’ Eleanor drops a shallow curtsey. Mr Thom ignores this nicety. He doesn’t remove his dapper burgundy coat or set down his ebony cane, instead advancing upon her and grabbing her wrist. Eleanor lets out a squeal as he almost throws her onto an oak bench under the window.
‘You lied, you little bitch.’
Eleanor’s heart pounds as her mind races. Has Davey betrayed her already?
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ McGhie demands.
Thom turns. ‘I’ve just come from the castle. I fell into conversation with one of the soldiers. The McKenzie woman visited the treasury. They got the crown out for her.’
McGhie’s gaze turns menacingly back towards Eleanor who pulls away, trying to make for the door. But it’s useless. Thom catches her by the waist this time and throws her back onto the bench. He strikes her on the cheek for good measure. Last night McGhie was the violent one and Thom her saviour. Now it seems both men are in concert. Eleanor starts to cry.
‘She went with Colonel Fraser, sir. I don’t know where,’ she manages to get out.
‘She didn’t go off with Fraser, you damn liar. You were with her throughout. Did you think I wouldn’t check? Gossip about women visiting an army barracks is easily obtained. How many times have you palmed me off with a bunch of lies?’
Eleanor finds that she cannot get a single word to cross her lips. Mr Thom has never in all these years said ‘damn’.
‘How many times have you lied?’ Thom repeats furiously. ‘What else have you withheld?’
‘Nothing!’ Eleanor exclaims. ‘I swear it!’
Thom’s eyes narrow. ‘Bloody liar!’ he repeats. Then, more terrifyingly, ‘You little whore.’
Beyond the glass partition the shop boy peers from the far side of the counter. Angus McGhie bursts out of the room and shoos the boy down the cellar stairs. Then he locks the shop door. Eleanor thinks to make a break for the back entrance onto the lane, but Thom is leering over her like a hound sniffing its prey. She’s tried to be too clever. She’s stupidly treated it, like Mrs Moore said, as a game.
‘Oh God,’ she murmurs. She wishes she’d left for Wimbledon two nights ago. She’d be out of this godforsaken city and halfway to Newcastle by now if she’d been lucky on the road.
Harry Thom bends down so close that she can smell the wine he had for breakfast. ‘Has your mistress got the crown? Tell me the truth,’ he sneers. ‘Where does she keep it?’
Eleanor shakes her head with a degree of violence. ‘No, sir. The crown is in the treasury. She showed little interest in it but the colonel insisted.’
