Chapter Thirty-Four #3
She’s distracted by the sound of Eleanor screaming and stops to peek over the top of the tarpaulin.
The maid emerges from the trees, running.
Araminta almost stands up to call the girl along the path but just as she’s about to do so, Thom bursts out of the copse in pursuit and, catching up easily, grabs Eleanor from behind.
She screams again. Two boatmen appear. ‘What are you doing?’ one of them shouts. ‘Leave that girl alone.’
‘She’s my daughter,’ Thom barks. ‘This is none of your business. She stole my money.’
‘You’re no father of mine!’ Eleanor exclaims.
But the men are clearly cowed by Thom’s assertion and he realises he has the whip hand.
‘I’m within my rights,’ he shouts, seeing them off. ‘Go on!’
Eleanor struggles but the men turn away, looking back now and then as they return to work, not wanting to become involved in a domestic dispute.
Araminta’s breathing has become shallow in horror.
A man can get away with anything, if he only says he’s related to the woman he’s terrorising.
Fingers fluttering, she pulls open the soft calfskin concealed in the base of the crown.
Inside there’s a velum. A document. It’s covered in careful handwriting.
Latin, she realises, with a tiny seal over a red ribbon showing a coat of arms. A fleur de lis and a lion.
She reads, hurriedly, crouched and hiding.
Lura Feminarum. The Rights of Women. She scrambles to the bottom of the page where there’s a signature.
Mary Regina Scotorum. Mary Queen of Scots and two words in the same hand, that she recalls from the family bible. Ad libertatum. Towards freedom.
Ahead, Thom waits until the men are far enough away.
‘Mrs Moore,’ he calls, as if he’s tempting a pussycat to a bowl of cream.
She wonders where Douglas and Davey are. Has Thom dispatched them with the blade as he did with Brodie? He seems wild-eyed and determined enough to kill three men. ‘You think I won’t hurt her?’ he jeers. ‘You think I give a toss about your brassy little bitch?’
‘You run, ma’am,’ Eleanor shouts pluckily. ‘There’s no point in him getting the pair of us.’ Then she squeals as he pulls her hair to bring her to her knees.
‘I’ve got your sword, Mrs Moore. And I’ll use it. Poor Eleanor Thrale. I wonder if I can behead her in one stroke.’
Eleanor squeals again and Araminta peers round the side of the boat.
A line of blood is trickling down Eleanor’s face where he’s cut under her cheekbone.
Araminta ducks back down. She wonders if she ought to wade to the other side of the canal and run along the far side of the water.
The boatmen will help her, surely. She’s dressed like a lady, after all, and Thom looks like some kind of shabby artisan.
She’s calculating how much more difficult it will be to run, weighed down by a sodden skirt. He’s bound to catch her.
‘Mrs Moore,’ Thom calls again. ‘What’s it to be?’
Araminta’s mind races. She thinks about everything Sister Winifred has told her.
Everything the McKenzies stand for. Women can have it all.
But to do so they’ll need help. Why, she wonders.
Why a worthy queen? Why not Catherine of Braganza, as Derbhille had it?
Nor any queen after apparently, at least till the crown was lost. She re-reads the dark words on the vellum.
It’s an edict, she understands suddenly.
It proclaims the rights of women. According to this, women might own property.
Sue for divorce. Mary’s signature at the bottom stands as a totem.
There’s something she can’t quite make out about ancient law being enshrined into the Scots statute.
She realises this deed then is part of the law that governs Britain, for the countries are now joined.
Towards freedom. ‘This is the treasure,’ she whispers, as understanding drops.
The crown it’s been concealed in is a symbol merely.
A bauble. But this velum might change the world.
Araminta rolls it up and conceals the deed in her bodice, careful to protect the ink from her skin.
She takes a breath and stands. He has no idea.
On the towpath, Thom has Eleanor by the throat.
‘Unhand her. I’ll give it to you,’ Araminta shouts.
Thom grins. He throws Eleanor onto the towpath and reaches across the tarpaulin. For a moment they both have a hand to the crown but then Araminta lets go.
‘Ma’am!’ Eleanor lets out in shock.
‘You stupid cow!’ Thom spits, as he turns with the Queen’s Honour held ahead of him, Eleanor on her feet, springing out of his way as he strides along the path and disappears in the direction of town.
Araminta steps off the boat. ‘Are you all right?’
Eleanor gazes after Harry Thom. ‘Why did you just give it to him?’ she demands.
‘Let him go,’ Araminta says. There’s no time to explain. ‘Come on. We must check what happened to Mr Brodie and the others.’
She cuts down the path and into the copse with Eleanor trailing after.