She goes to the desk to reply. She doesn’t want to lie, but neither can she tell him the truth. Dodging round darkstreets isn’t respectable behaviour. One unheard-of great aunt was surprising, never mind two. A secret quest. Something to belong to.I am learning a good deal about my family, is the closest she gets to admitting it.It seems my forebears were ladies-in-waiting to the Stuart queens.He’ll like that.Then she describes the house, the family motto and the entirety of the McKenzie investments she’s inherited, repeating what was said by Mr Drummond when he laid them out before her.A not inconsiderable income.She carries on,Today I will seek the stones you asked me to buy,and adds as a post-script,I fear it may take a while to tie everything up, but it will be worth it, my dear.Yes, she thinks, if she can find the crown, her McKenzie inheritance, things will make sense. She likes being this new woman. Richmond is almost unimaginable. She seals the letter with green wax and rings for Brodie, who takes longer than usual to appear.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
She hands him the letter.
‘Is everything all right?’ he enquires, waiting for an opening. Anything, in fact.
Outside the window Araminta hears the traces shifting on the carriage as Davey waits at the door.
‘I’ll go down,’ she says, giving the butler nothing. He helps with her coat and hat and stands in the doorway, staring after her as if there might be answers to his many questions in the shape of her departure. From Princes Street the church bell sounds the half hour, and Araminta doesn’t notice Harry Thom, mounted, at a distance, following from the far side of the square. When they stop at the milliner’s, the first shop to be visited, Davey points him out as he opens the carriage door. ‘Ma’am,’ he flicks his head. ‘Mr Thom.’
Araminta peers obliquely. Then she smiles. ‘We’ll lead him a merry dance, shall we, Davey?’
Davey grins.
Over the next few hours, Mr Thom proceeds to witness a great deal of shopping. After the milliner’s on Princes Street Araminta proceeds to a jeweller’s booth on the first floor of a building on George Street adjacent to the Assembly Rooms, where it takes her almost an hour to choose the Cairngorm stones she thinks will most delight her husband. She discusses the formation of these smoky quartz gems and also takes two large beryls, rarer than the Cairngorms. A further hour is expended in buying several yards of good tweed and tartan in a dowdy-looking shop on Hanover Street, which, Brodie assured Mrs Moore yesterday, her great aunt often patronised. By half past one, Thom is ready to throttle someone. He loiters, overhearing Mrs Moore order wooden trunks from the carpenter on Thistle Street Lane to transport her great aunt’s goods to London. Through the small shop window, Araminta views Thom in the doorway of a saddler’s. He’s handsome, she thinks, in a dark-eyed way. And well-dressed. Something of the lothario about him. Smartly, she checks her pocket watch. Then she directs Davey to take her home.
Thom waits by the mews.
‘It’s surely inadvisable for you to be seen here, sir,’ Davey points out. ‘The butler asked me questions about you earlier.’
Thom kicks an old anvil that has been there so long nobody can recall where it came from.
‘I must take her in hand,’ he snarls.
‘In hand, sir?’
‘I must break her open.’
Davey’s eyes widen.
‘When your mistress went to the castle the other day, how did she seem after?’ Thom barks.
Davey grins. ‘Wet, sir. It was terrible weather. One of the maids said it took a full hour to dry the lady’s things.’
‘Speak to the maids often, do you?’
‘They bring my meals. Pies from the kitchen. Porridge. And notices from the mistress when she requires the carriage.’
‘And she didn’t seem unduly excited that day?’ Thom pushes.
Davey shakes his head. ‘I don’t see the mistress much, sir. She’s inside the carriage, you see.’
‘And the last few days she’s only required you for this shopping trip, a trip to her lawyer, Heriot’s Hospital and the castle? And her great aunt’s funeral?’
‘And the first night I took her to St Giles’, if you recall. I told you about that. And she went to that house, sir, beyond the Water of Leith,’ he adds, remembering exactly which lies he’s told.
Thom eyes the boy. He knows just where Davey means. The row of houses beyond the water, where that minx of a whore kept him busy most of the night before last. But he’s checked and no aristocratic personage resides there. Nowhere near, in fact. Things aren’t adding up but it’s difficult to tell if the boy is actually lying. He steps closer. ‘You must disclose everything, do you understand?’ he growls.
‘Yes, sir.’ Davey shows no fear, though the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
‘Have you seen nuns, boy?’
Davey shakes his head.
‘I believe your mistress has been beyond the city walls to the south. She’s been there recently.’
Davey isn’t sure what to say. He’s happy to lie, but there’s no need.
