A clerk greeted us, and I inquired if Mr. Woolsey was available this morning. He was most congenial, with a quick glance at Munro and no doubt made note of the long coat, wool trousers, the long jacket he wore under, and the vest over the dark shirt.
“I will tell him that you wish to see him.”
He returned with Mr. Woolsey a short time later.
The man was immaculately dressed in a full suit of clothes, a white shirt and tie, with a pleasant expression beneath thinning silver hair and thick brows.
I explained that I was presently a guest of a friend in Edinburgh and in need of information about something I had found. I mentioned that my friend had suggested he might be able to assist in the matter.
“Elizabeth Cheney?” he commented when he asked the name. “I remember her very well. We do not often have ladiesmaking purchases from the men’s department. She was very specific about what she wanted, unusual for a woman and a delight as a customer.”
A delight. I smiled to myself as he recalled assisting her with her purchase.
“How may I assist you this morning?”
I retrieved the feather from my bag and laid it on the glass counter.
“It is quite the worse for wear. The weather in Edinburgh,” I began the story that I had planned to tell, as if the feather belonged to me.
“It came apart from the garment. It seems quite unusual. I’m hoping you know of someone who might be able to replace it. My great aunt will be extremely disappointed if it cannot be replaced.”
He inspected the feather that I had washed before leaving Albany Street.
“A most unusual colour,” he commented. “It does seem to be natural. One can see any dye that may have been applied just here at the shaft. If a dye was used, there would be traces of it here,” he indicated.
“Which would mean that the colour of your feather is naturally blue, very exotic for ladies’ evening wear and the theatre as well. I have a catalogue of such things, that could be helpful.”
“Yes, I would like to see what ye have.”
He eventually returned with a large leather-bound catalogue that included not only samples of items requested by gentlemen as decoration or embellishment for evening wear, but also included examples of feathers used for finer women’s wear as well.
He placed the catalogue on the counter, then turned through several pages.
“Our customers, particularly the ladies, often request colourful decorations, particularly for a walking costume. I was hoping to find something that might resemble the feather you found.
“However, I do not find any sample that is similar to what you have.” He looked over several more pages that included feathers, ribbons, and gold-painted buttons.
“There is another possibility. A man on George Street, a taxidermist by trade, has provided feathers for us in the past. He is extremely knowledgeable and might be able to tell you more about this.”
He wrote the man’s name and the location of his shop on a piece of note paper and handed it to me.
I was disappointed. Yet the taxidermist might be able to tell us something about the feather.
Further, he might be able to tell us who the customer was for such an extravagant decoration.
We passed several other departments as we returned to the main floor, including another ladies’ wear department.
As the morning grew later, more customers had arrived, women chattering amongst themselves, more than one accompanied by a young girl, obviously a daughter or other relative.
I felt a twinge of loss at the sight of something I had never experienced.
Mikaela Forsythe understood that feeling of loss as well as anyone might have, even though she had memories as a young child of her mother.
Still, it was not the same as never having known my own mother and father, what had happened to them, and the reason I was sent to that Foundling Hospital.
Were they alive somewhere, forced by some dreadful circumstance to send me away. Or were they dead?
Questions I had struggled with as long as I could remember.
