Thom considers. ‘Who’s in charge of you?’
‘Colonel Fraser, sir.’
‘Him,’ Thom says, as if he’s picking a new cravat from a box of silks at the tailor’s. ‘He had a visit the other day from a friend of mine. You might tell him I’m here on account of Mrs Moore. My name is Mr Thom.’
The soldier nods sharply. ‘It’ll take a moment, sir,’ he says and disappears through the gate. Thom’s breath clouds the black air. To left and right the gas lamps of Edinburgh twinkle beneath the Esplanade in the darkness. It’s so clear tonight Thom can pick out the Firth of Forth; a wedge of absolute darkness beyond Leith and then over the sound, tiny pinpricks of light round the East Neuk.
‘It’s a pretty city, isn’t it?’ he comments, not expecting an answer.
The soldier returns and leads Mr Thom through the internal gates and up the slope towards the officers’ mess. The horses are stabled at this time of night in the carthouses to the right of the governor’s residence. Thom hears them shifting; a whiff of manure on the freezing air. The battlements are impressive. The castle is well sited. Inside, the man takes his coat and hat and leads him upstairs to a room where two officers are smoking. A burst of laughter echoes from further inside as a beefy blond fellow in immaculate uniform gets to his feet.
‘Colonel Archie Fraser,’ he introduces himself. ‘Mrs Moore sent you, did she?’
‘Not at all.’ Thom holds out his hand, which Fraser clasps firmly. ‘I’m Harry Thom. I’m here on important business.’ He isn’t sure, as he does it, that what he has in mind will work, but he shifts his thumb and his pinkie slightly, and Fraser responds with the same subtle gesture. The colonel can’t be much of a card player for his face lights up at seeing the mason’s hold. Not the sign of Harry Thom’s order, for the Hermits have other ways of recognising each other. This is the sign of the Grand Lodge. Thom suspected as much.
‘We should talk in camera,’ Fraser says. ‘Do you mind, Hodge?’ He tosses the words to the other man.
‘Not at all, sir,’ Hodge responds and disappears into the other room, in the direction of the laughter.
Fraser pours a measure and motions to Thom to sit. ‘Well, brother,’ he says, ‘it’s nice to meet you. I knew there was a lodge in Edinburgh but—’
‘I’m from London,’ Thom cuts in. ‘I arrived shortly after Mrs Moore, sent by the Grand Master himself.’
‘I sailed up with her. We met on the boat,’ Fraser admits. ‘Interesting lady...’
Thom lifts his glass. ‘I’d not thought to ask for help,’ he says. ‘There’s nobody in Scotland of the adequate rank. But I’m surethe Grand Master will forgive me for talking to you. I’m on a mission of the utmost secrecy.’
Fraser pulls his chair closer. ‘To do with Mrs Moore?’
‘I can’t tell you everything, Colonel. But yes. Mrs Moore has come to Scotland to uncover a treasure that belongs to the Lodge. A treasure that was stolen more than two centuries ago and has been hidden all this time by... Scottish women,’ he gets out with a good degree of venom.
Fraser blinks. Mrs Moore is the most English lady he’s ever come across. ‘What?’
‘I know,’ Thom says. ‘She seems perfectly harmless. But her family aren’t. They stole what we seek. These women are infamous across the generations. Mrs Moore’s great grandmother was a notorious Jacobite who was executed in this castle, in fact. For treason.’
Fraser’s eyes widen.
‘Her grandmother was said to be a courtesan, or as good as,’ Thom adds for good measure.
Fraser’s mouth opens. ‘Good Lord,’ he says.
‘I understand you visited Mrs Moore at home, Colonel, and that you attended her great aunt’s funeral.’
‘I’d no idea of any of this,’ Fraser protests. ‘I simply met her on the ship.’
Thom relishes having the colonel on the back foot. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assures his new friend. ‘Your actions may prove useful. Firstly, I need to know what you saw in number four Glenfinlas Street. The smallest detail might reveal her. And secondly, I want you to recount the details of her visit here the other day. I have it on authority that she took an interest in the church.’
Fraser scarcely hesitates and certainly does not question where Thom might have got this information. ‘The house,’ he says. ‘Right. I was received in the drawing room which wasfurnished mostly with books. She had a map on her desk. In fact, she showed me it. It was an old thing – mid-eighteenth century. The garrison chapel was marked. Mrs Moore was insistent about seeing it.’ His mind is now running over his several encounters with Araminta McKenzie Moore, as if he’s picking up porcelain to examine the maker’s marks. ‘But she was less interested in the chapel when we got there. She went rootling about the ordnance store.’
Thom sits forward. ‘A storeroom? That’s interesting. Can we look at it now? Just the two of us?’
Fraser nods.
Outside, the men climb the wide carriageway in the dark. Fraser holds high a lamp from the mess. The colonel is hard-eyed. He knew when he joined the masonic lodge that he was swearing to something beyond his vows to king and country, but this has never conflicted with his military duty. He likes the feel of Harry Thom – a gentleman who knows his business. There’s something glamorous about him – his purpose, perhaps. At the old tower, Fraser swings the lamp to indicate the garrison chapel and the store above it.
‘We can go straight into the store from the steps through the ordnance yard,’ he says.
‘No,’ Thom insists. ‘We must go as Mrs Moore did. I want to see what she saw.’
