Davey raises his eyebrows. Mrs Moore is a fine lady and would hardly frequent a public house. Miss McKenzie the same. ‘No, sir.’ His denial is emphatic.
Thom decides the boy is telling the truth. ‘She’s ordered the conveyance for eleven then?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll follow.’
‘Right you are.’ Davey doesn’t argue.
Thom checks his pocket watch. It’s not far off eleven, he thinks as he mounts his horse. ‘I’ll loiter on the far side of Charlotte Square,’ he says.
Once he’s gone Davey bridles the horses in the courtyard. Brodie appears and sternly motions the coachman inside. There’s a moment’s silence. Davey thinks he’s had a deal of visitors this morning. He wonders what’s happened.
‘Mr Brodie,’ he tries. ‘The mistress asked for the carriage at eleven.’
Brodie clears his throat. ‘I think you best tell me what you’re up to, lad.’
Davey’s jaw tightens for he stands in the centre of a web of commitments that suddenly feel too complex. It’s like trying to rein in a half dozen horses at once.
‘I know you’re a good fellow,’ Brodie assures him. ‘I can see from the way you helped that lass. I’m proud of you for that, but Jeez, boy, what’s going on?’
Davey’s eyes search the stable floor. If Brodie saw Malvina Wells, there’s a fair chance the butler also saw him in conversation with Mr Thom.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he gets out. ‘Miss Wells doesn’t deserve unmannerly attention.’
Brodie waits but Davey can think of nothing more to say. The butler reasons that he’d like to leave the stable at least understanding whether Davey is working for Mrs Moore or against her. ‘This household runs for the benefit of the mistress,’ Brodie declares. ‘We’re not here to accommodate anyone else.’
Davey understands perfectly and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. ‘But the mistress knows, sir. Eleanor has it in hand.’
‘Eleanor?’ Brodie’s gaze is steady. He doesn’t give his own knowledge away. ‘Everyone thinks the girl is missing. Cook is half-distracted with worry. Do you know where she is?’
Davey hesitates but gives up his secret. ‘She left last night.’
Brodie looks grave. ‘You know the whole district’s been looking for the girl?’
‘Yes, sir. But, like you said, everything’s for the mistress’s benefit...’ And there Davey stops.
Brodie sighs. At least he’s made some headway. ‘Are you suggesting that Mrs Moore wants to make out the girl is lost, when she’s no such thing?’
‘Not at first, sir. It’s only that Eleanor was afraid and came here, but then last night, she went up the road to see the mistress and never returned. And this morning Hester still thought she was gone.’
Brodie nods curtly, adding this account to the fact that Mrs Moore explicitly instructed him to keep looking for Eleanor despite what he’d seen with his own eyes.
‘Do you know why the mistress would do that?’
Davey’s eyes widen. He does not.
‘So who’s the gentleman with whom you just tarried?’ Brodie continues.
Davey bites his lip. ‘I canna say, sir. The mistress wouldnae like it.’
‘Would she not?’ Brodie pushes, but something makes him believe the boy. He wonders if Mrs Moore has taken a lover. He wonders if Eleanor has been engaged in the ferrying of illicit messages. But then why does Saoirse McKenzie keep returning to the West End? What could his erstwhile lover possibly have to do with such an arrangement? If Davey won’t tell him, he’ll need to uncover the matter another way.
‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ he comments drily. ‘You better get on.’
*
Inside the house, Araminta is unlikely to be ready for eleven. She’s received a letter from Johnathan which she has now read three times. In large part the letter is concerned with the properties of igneous rock under discussion at her husband’s committee. The rest reads like a jocular if veiled request for her to return to London.You must be thoroughly enjoying the porridge up there.It’s not yet been a fortnight. Araminta reclines on the yellow sopha and considers the journey to Edinburgh, Aunt Eilidh’s death. The family she is finally proud to belong to, the thrill of finding Berenice’s clues and, better yet, solving them. London feels more than a few hundred miles away. She misses her husband. But still. In the gilded mirror between the long windows, she can see she looks the same, but she doesn’t feel it. With some surprise, she realises that she feels better. Bigger. Perhaps, she muses, here in Edinburgh she’s found more than just where she comes from. She’s found who she’s capable of becoming.
