Chapter 6 #3
Even though it was a daunting task, the letters were the only possible clues into the inquiries Dory made on my behalf in the weeks before I arrived back in Edinburgh.
It was very possible we would learn nothing from them other than that one name that I remembered—Jacobson.
It was all a very long time ago. Even if she was able to learn something about a woman named Jacobson, it was possible it would reveal nothing.
Memories faded, if there were any at all, names changed for all sorts of reasons, people married, moved on, they died. The truth was that searching for information about my true family might very well be like searching for a needle in a haystack, and there might be nothing discovered.
I agreed to his terms, but silently vowed that I would not give up.
It was still early evening, and I laid all of the letters on the table from the past two years after I had asked Dory to make inquiries in certain places. Then I tucked each letter in answer behind my own letter.
Next, I read each one, beginning with my original request of 4 June 1895, almost two years prior:
Dear friend,
I have an important favour to ask. I am determined to know my birth family, but I will need your help. I can pay you for your time and efforts.
My first clear memory is of a woman named Jacobson. I was no more than four or five years when I was taken from her care and left with the Sisters of Charity at the Foundling Hospital at Saint Alphonse church. I am of the hope they may have some record of my time there.
I will be deeply indebted to you for any information.
Lily
And Dory’s painfully scribbled reply that someone had written on her behalf:
Dear Lily,
I will visit the orphan house Thursday. I will send a note if there is any information.
Dory
The letter that followed:
Special permission is needed to search their records. The nun in charge, self-righteous she was, said I had no business making inquiries. I understand the reasons ye ran away.
Dory
Munro looked over at me. “Ye were sent to the orphan house?”
“I was very young at the time. I barely remember it.”
It was a lie, but the memories were painful and not something that I had shared with anyone. Not even Mikaela Forsythe when she became my guardian.
It was in the past and the reason that I had run away. That was when Dory had found me on the street, selling apples for a vendor, and took me to live at The Church.
“Wot is yer given name?” he asked.
“Lily is the only name I remember. I’ve always assumed that it was given to me either by the Jacobson woman who sent me to the Foundling Hospital, or the sisters at the school. I know nothing of my family name.”
“The Montgomery name suits ye. Like her ladyship. I keep expectin’ ye to want a Viking long boat.”
For the first time since arriving in Edinburgh, with everything that had happened, I laughed at the thought.
“I will leave that to her ladyship. However, I would like a flying machine like the ones drawn by Leonardo Da Vinci. That would be exciting.”
“A flying machine?” He made a sound. “Best keep to the motor carriage.”
I did have somewhat of a reckless experience with Lady Antonia’s motor carriage in the past, but in all fairness, it was not my fault.
A carter driver deliberately rammed the carriage, quite satisfied with himself until his horse bolted, his cart was upended, and baskets of apples were scattered across the Strand.
It was late in the evening, but we now had an organized stack of letters. As I tied a cord about it, I thought of Mikaela’s chalkboard at the office on the Strand in London.
“’Tis late enough,” he announced. “I will see ye back to Albany Street for the night.”
Tomorrow I would find a way to organize the information in the letters in a way that was easier to follow and perhaps learn something more that could be useful.
“What is yer given name?” I inquired as I tucked the bundle of letters into my bag, then reached for my jacket and hat.
He shook his head. “The name Munro was sewn into the jacket I had when the peddler sold me to the blacksmith.”
“Sold you?” I was horrified.
While I was an orphan, I could not imagine someone selling a child. Still, I had heard other stories and knew that it was true.
Munro turned off the electric and walked with me to the entrance of Sir McQuarrie’s office, then locked the door after.
“He saw no reason to give me a name, as none of the lads who had worked for him lived very long.”
“I’m sorry.” I could think of nothing else that was adequate.
“I was the better for my time with him. As ye can well see, I survived. Not so, the blacksmith. I heard he died a few years later, long after I escaped. It seems that his latest helper took offense over somethin’...”
I didn’t hear the rest of it as I caught the movement of a shadow just at the edge of my vision. Yet, when I turned to see who was there in the light from a streetlamp, the sidewalk was empty. There was no one there.
“It will be a bit of a walk to the High Street to find a driver,” Munro was saying. “Lily? Are ye all right?”
I glanced again down the length of the sidewalk that bordered the square. It was empty. I frowned.
“I thought I saw someone...”