Chapter Thirty-Seven
The weather in London is milder than in Edinburgh, and though Araminta has been back for a month, the warmth on her face still surprises her as she dismounts her carriage to meet Eleanor.
The water is rancid and she tries not to retch as she spots the maid on deck, above, and motions her to disembark.
‘Ma’am.’ Eleanor makes a formal curtsey on the quay and, rising from it, smiles widely. The women embrace. ‘The longshoremen will unload,’ Eleanor says. ‘It’ll take a couple of hours, I should think. The boatswain engaged three carts with drivers on our behalf.’
‘I’ve had one of the stables cleared,’ Araminta replies. ‘We can unpack it all there. There’s room in the attics if need be.’
The women fall to silence, unsure what to say now the day-to-day arrangements are covered. A stevedore with a trolley passes and Araminta is caught unaware by the stink of the fellow. She clutches her stomach.
‘I’ve become unaccountably sensitive,’ she explains. ‘I can’t seem to settle . . .’
‘I’ll see to everything,’ Eleanor offers, glancing at the coach. ‘If you need to lie down.’
‘I didn’t come for the unloading. I’m hungry for news,’ Araminta admits.
Eleanor grins once more. ‘More than Mr Drummond wrote to you?’
‘Certainly. All the matters Mr Drummond did not include,’ Araminta confirms.
They remove to the carriage and Araminta sends the coachman to fetch refreshment from the Prospect.
‘Well?’ she opens. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense!’
‘Cook will come,’ Eleanor announces. ‘She won’t hazard a trip by sea but will catch the stage next Friday and should be with us on Monday. She’s bringing the kitchen maid. She wouldn’t leave her.’
‘And the others?’
‘I paid off the housemaids. They’ve secured positions elsewhere. Mr Neill helped with that. Davey said he’d come at first, but then he was offered a place on Anne Street. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.’
‘I see.’
Eleanor leans in, for the next is gossip. ‘He’s fond of Malvina Wells,’ she says.
‘Who’s that?’
‘An American. A freed slave. She’s the talk of the West End. In service to the McLean family on Randolph Crescent.’
‘Will he marry the girl?’
‘I’ve no idea. Cook says he ought to. I paid him six months as you said, for his loyalty in Linlithgow.’
The coachman returns with two cups of stout and a pie on a pewter plate. Araminta sets the tray between them. Eleanor takes a sip of the beer. ‘It’s good,’ she says, but Araminta can’t face it.
‘How’s my great aunt? She’s written but she doesn’t tell me about her health.’
‘She’s well. Back in the convent. They say she’ll have to walk with a stick, but she’s determined that won’t inhibit her.’
‘Was she sad to see the house cleared?’
‘I think so. But also glad in a way. She’s started a drive to educate young women.
They’re going to offer classes at the convent to teach girls how to read.
’ Eleanor pauses. ‘I’ve news of my own, ma’am,’ the maid admits.
‘I’ve been stepping out with a gentleman.
An officer. From the castle. Am I permitted? ’
Araminta nods. ‘You are if you wish.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is he . . . ?’
‘The lieutenant who fixed your great aunt’s umbrella. I happened upon him at St Columba’s one afternoon. I planted flowers on Mr Brodie’s grave. It’s pretty in the graveyard now the blossom’s out. Did you sort out your business, ma’am?’
Araminta pauses. This is difficult to explain.
The queen’s crown has been reported in the newspapers, said to have been found walled up in a castle in Northumberland.
At present it resides in the Tower of London but there’s been a request for it to be returned to Edinburgh where it would join the rest of the Honours of Scotland at the castle.
It’s been named the princess’s crown, which is curious, for all the evidence points to it being made for a queen.
In their almost daily correspondence, Sister Winifred explained to her great niece that while successful in the crown’s recovery, and having struck a deal on how the crown is to be termed, the Church hasn’t managed to uncover the whereabouts of Harry Thom.
Where’s the justice in that? Winifred scrawled.
For Mr Brodie. James McLevy turned up information that Thom had fled to the Baltic.
Then he turned up some more that indicated the Americas.
He mustn’t get away with it, Winifred repeated in another letter.
I just hope he turns up eventually. It’s plain to Araminta that Winifred might be aware of only some of the terms around the crown’s recovery.
Something she did make mention of is that while the Bishop of Edinburgh is respectful of books, he recently required the removal of all items in the Forres Street library that relate to the Order of the Hermit.
What did he get for that, Araminta wonders.
In any case, now, she’s more concerned with the business in hand. ‘Mr Moore’s succeeded in procuring an audience with the Princess of Kent,’ she says at length. ‘But her uncle the king is sick and it’s been postponed.’
Eleanor does not question further. She finishes the pie and licks her fingers.
‘Will we ever go back to Scotland, ma’am?’
‘So you can see your soldier?’ Araminta laughs. ‘Perhaps,’ she says. ‘Next summer. I should like to see Edinburgh in better weather.’
‘I’m glad to be back. You look well,’ the maid says. ‘The undermaid must be looking after you.’
‘She’s competent to dress me, certainly, but I feel dreadful,’ Araminta admits. ‘Quite bilious. Johnathan thinks it’s the stress of waiting for a reply from Kensington Palace but I swear I can smell the breakfast tray as far as the landing when the girl brings it up.’
Both women stop, the understanding coming to them simultaneously now they are together. Eleanor has always kept track of her mistress’s courses but events in Scotland have meant that she’s not done so for months. The last time Araminta bled must be January, just after the new year.
‘Oh, ma’am,’ Eleanor lets out. ‘Congratulations. When do you think you might be due?’