Chapter Twenty-One
Davey isn’t worried when Eleanor doesn’t return to the mews.
In fact, it’s a relief. He’s never shared the stable with anyone else, let alone a plump, pleasing, green-eyed girl who smells of woodsmoke and cherries.
He saw her off up Queensferry Street last night and he has faith she knows what she’s doing.
Davey’s a lad who lets folk be. That night, he sleeps in the hayloft and is woken by Hester, bringing his tin of buttered porridge a little later than usual.
‘The mistress was out again last night,’ Hester confides. ‘We don’t know where she goes.’
Davey doesn’t say that he has some idea, not now he is inducted to the mistress’s benefit and has his second shilling.
Hester drops her voice to a dramatic whisper. ‘Do you think it’s an affair?’
‘She’s only just got here,’ Davey argues, warming his hands on the porridge tin. ‘What does Cook say?’
‘A lady’s consent to what happens in her petticoats is nobody’s business but her own,’ Hester recites.
‘Well then. I’m sure Mrs Moore is only exploring the district.’
‘Her maid has run. Me and Agnes was surprised. She didn’t seem the type.
’ This last was delivered with especial gossipy confidence.
Davey wonders momentarily what kind of girl Hester thinks would run off.
‘The mistress wants the carriage at eleven, mind,’ the girl adds.
‘Something about buying rocks.’ She shrugs at this inexplicable occupation and disappears through the garden gate.
Davey eats his porridge outside, sitting on an old barrel.
Then he readies the horses. He’s alerted to the fact that the Black maid, Malvina Wells, has been sent to the next-door stable by the sound of whooping from some of the other carriage men.
The girl has been dispatched to order the McLean carriage for her mistress who’s planning an outing to Kennington and Jenner later this morning with her sister.
Several of the coachmen emerge onto the setts and one of them shouts, ‘You look strange, Blackie!’ The girl’s gaze drops to her feet.
The McLean coachman looks embarrassed and holds his tongue. Davey tethers the mare and steps up.
‘Miss Wells,’ he says, ‘let me fetch you safely from the mews.’
The other boys whoop, this time in derision but Davey doesn’t care. He doesn’t need Cook to tell him what’s right or Hester to decide which maid is worthwhile, and he doesn’t care what the other lads think. He escorts Malvina to the corner of Queensferry Street.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
Davey gives a little bow. ‘You needn’t mind them. I’m sure they’ll get used to you.’
He’s about to turn back along Charlotte Place when he notices Mr Thom approaching at a smart trot down Queensferry Street. He puts his hands in his pocket to check his shillings, then raises his palm in greeting as Thom dismounts. ‘Fine horse, sir,’ Davey comments.
Thom has no interest in the carriage man’s opinion of his hired nag. ‘Your mistress has been out this morning, boy?’ he says, half-question, half-statement.
‘She’s ordered the carriage for eleven,’ Davey confirms. ‘I’m readying the horses.’
‘She’s been out before this though?’
‘Not with me, sir.’
Thom grimaces. ‘She went to the south of the city,’ he says, as if this will loosen the boy’s lips.
‘That’s a long way to walk,’ Davey says. ‘I’m sure the maid who brings the mistress’s orders would’ve told me.’
‘Have you ever taken her there? To a convent?’
Davey shakes his head.
‘And your mistress before. The old McKenzie dame?’
Davey shakes his head again.
‘How about a tavern on the Links? Have either of them visited such a place?’
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.
She goes to the desk to reply. She doesn’t want to lie, but neither can she tell him the truth.
Dodging round dark streets 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.