‘Are you a McKenzie? How many of you are there?’ Thom splutters.
Harry’s dark eyes remind Winifred of his father. That and his stature. He has no better manners either though he’s dapper, she’ll give him that. The plummy coat and silk cravat are smart. She takes great pleasure in cocking her head and saying, ‘Sorry, my son. I’m an old woman and my hearing is dreadful. You seem exercised. Can I help?’ She spreads her arms.
‘You were digging outside. Do you have the clue?’ He’s insistent.
Thom feels as if he’ll explode. He visited Heriot’s Hospital at first light, and realising the possibilities of an equilateral triangle, though not being in possession of the requisite map, he quickly ascertained two approximate spots for the apex of Berenice McKenzie’s geographical riddle. This is the second point he’s visited. If only he’d done it the other way round, he thinks. He’s the first Hermit in decades to get this far. He feels the promise of fame ahead. The weight of history.
Winifred takes a slow draw on the pipe. ‘A novice dropped her prayer book while out walking,’ she says steadily. ‘We found it on the grass.’
Thom sneers as he advances. He isn’t going to fall for some stupid story. He wants the truth. ‘Damn you bloody women!’ he spits. ‘You take me for a fool. I saw George Heriot. I’m onto you.’
The man in the chair rises at this unmannerly outburst. He’s a fair size, Winifred notes gratefully, though she hopes the matterwon’t come down to muscle. She can take a beating but she’d rather not.
‘You can’t speak to the sister like that,’ the fellow says gruffly.
‘I can do what I damn well please,’ Thom counters.
‘Gentlemen,’ Winifred steps in. Thom gives a look as if to say that the man is clearly no gentleman. ‘What’s all this fuss about?’
‘You know,’ Thom spits. ‘And you will tell me.’
The pink-armed woman returns. Winifred prays silently that she has stowed Eleanor safely.
‘Where’s the other one?’ Thom barks.
‘Sir?’ the woman says.
‘The other nun.’ He points at the door.
Sister Winifred hands back the pipe and adopts a businesslike tone. ‘No other sister was with me. It was this woman who helped find the book.’
The barmaid crosses her arms. ‘Aye,’ she says. ‘Can I fetch you a cup of ale, sir?’
Thom is having none of this. ‘I’ll find her,’ he shouts, his patience snapping. ‘If I have to rip this place apart!’ He storms through the door and noisily climbs the stair.
Winifred eyes the woman who shakes her head only a fraction, indicating that the girl isn’t on the upper floor. They listen to Thom crashing into the hostelry’s bedrooms. A man shouts and a woman screams. Doors are slammed.
In the bar, the woman heads behind the counter and withdraws a serviceable stick, perhaps the club the tavern is named for: an old mashie niblick. Winifred wishes she had Araminta’s muff gun, though the barmaid looks as if she knows how to use the golf club. The room is tense, the drunk man eyeing the door.
‘Off you go, Jimmy,’ the barmaid directs and he disappears outside without looking Sister Winifred in the eye.
The women listen as Thom stomps back downstairs and through a door on the other side of the hallway. The barmaid starts across the room. This, Winifred realises, must be where Eleanor is secreted. ‘I’ll find you, you little bitch,’ he says. The barmaid hoists the club over her shoulder. Winifred takes up the rear.
She’s made it as far as the hallway when beyond the front door, she sees Eleanor, who, panicked, has burst out of a cupboard and escaped through a window. She’s running up the road. The barmaid continues after Thom, but Winifred exits. She steps onto the highway. There’s a horse and cart outside, a poor rag and bone affair, loosely tethered. The driver must be touting for business at one of the houses. Winifred unhitches the reins and jumps into the seat, stealing it without a second thought. She quickly catches up Eleanor, who mounts without Winifred having to stop.
‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,’ the girl babbles.
Winifred whips the horse and it picks up a little pace. The barmaid must have kept Thom busy for they are at the peak of the hill when he bursts out of the hostelry. At first he starts to run after them but then he realises he’ll never catch up on foot and disappears round the side of the inn to fetch his horse. Winifred crests the hill. ‘He’ll figure out fast enough there’s a convent nearby,’ she says. It comes to her that this means she cannot return to her sisters. ‘We have to turn before he has sight of us again,’ she says and directs the horse down the hill towards the new canal. The animal struggles with the gradient and they can’t go as fast as Winifred would like. They pass a ropemakers’ yard but it’s closed. Then, near the water there’s an ironworks and Winifred skilfully steers off the highway, through the arched entrance, where a fellow in a worn leather apron comes into the cobbled courtyard.
‘Sister?’
Winifred jumps down, sprightlier than her years. ‘We need help,’ she says. ‘My novice and I.’ She removes another shilling from her pocket, her last. ‘First,’ she says, this cart must be hidden for a while, then returned to the Golf Inn, not too soon mind. Nobody must be told where it came from. There’s a bad man pursuing us. Second, we must get away from here. Quickly.’
The fellow takes the coin. ‘Where do you want to go?’
Winifred tips her chin in the direction of town, then she has a second thought – something less obvious. Along the canal there’s an old church that hid Covenanters fleeing the king’s wrath. It was centuries ago, but the crypt proved a safe haven. Perhaps it still would. She takes Eleanor’s arm. ‘Is there a way along the water?’
The man nods. ‘We have a barge.’
