Chapter Five
For a lass who had never been farther from home than the edge of the village, each turn in the road, each fresh vista, was a revelation to Elspeth. She fancied the early summer sunshine made even the mud sparkle as the slow-moving dray afforded her a spectacular view of the Pennine Hills, which pointed like a huge earthen arrow toward the capital.
Four hours of slow travel brought them to the edge of the metropolis. To the north, the city seemed to rise up out of the earth like a stone dragon’s spine beneath the high outcrop of the fabled Arthur’s Seat, and what had to be the lush green parkland of the Holyrood Palace rolling away to the east.
Within the city, the streets were close and narrow and rattling with the deafening noise of a hundred horses’ and oxen’s hooves clattering along the slick, uneven cobbles. Elspeth could barely think for all the sound—she had never heard anything like it.
But mercifully for her ears, the dray man finally made his slow, laborious way into a quieter neighborhood—an oasis of calm, lined with new trees in their first bud hemming a neat, green garden square where he drew his team to a halt in front of the prettiest wedding cake of a stone townhouse Elspeth had ever seen.
After having spent a good portion of the long ride imagining what a person of wicked disposition and dubious morals might look like, Elspeth was entirely unprepared for the elegant, refined woman in exquisite lavender silk who rushed out of the house to personally greet her on the steps of her equally elegant, refined townhouse.
“Oh, my darling niece!” The moment Elspeth stepped to the pavement, she found herself enveloped in a plushly scented embrace. “Oh, I would have known you anywhere! If you aren’t the very image of your darling mother. Such a lass! Her smile could light up half of Edinburgh, and I collect that yours will light up the other half.”
Elspeth was beyond astonished. And beyond pleased. In all of her four and twenty years, no one had ever said such a thing about her mother. Nor about her own smile.
But years of guarding herself against potential wickedness made Elspeth retreat from the effusive, warm embrace so she might make her aunt a properly restrained curtsey in greeting. “Lady Ivers. Thank you so very much for your kind invitation.”
“You are very welcome. I own myself delighted that you were finally able to accept after all these years, even if it is a sudden surprise.” Lady Ivers’ infectious laugh spilled across the street. “I suppose the sisters Murray finally judged you to be past the age of danger?”
Elspeth felt her cheeks heat in the face of such insight. “Nay, milady. I came on my own say so,” she confessed. “The Aunts Murray didn’t approve.”
“Gracious!” Lady Ivers clasped her hands in astonished delight. “How wonderfully intrepid of you, making the journey without help. Oh, but I am so glad you are finally come, my darling, darling girl. Such a wonderful surprise, but I am already making plans for you, my darling—to take you about as soon as may be, to show you the sights, and show the sights you!”
Lady Ivers linked her arm with Elspeth’s to escort her into the entry room full of dramatic, polished black and white marble, but Elspeth had no time to gape like the greenling she was, for as soon as she was divested of her country cloak by a very refined attendant maid, her lady aunt swept her up the curved stairs to a drawing room furnished in such a perfectly stunning shade of water blue, Elspeth felt her breath soar out of her throat in wonder.
The house was like something out of a dream—Elspeth had never even seen such glossy, tissue-thin silks at the drapers in the village. No one in their fusty hamlet could even have call for such a sumptuous fabric, let alone the coin to purchase such luxurious lengths as were cascading from the tall, clear-paned windows.
Who knew iniquity would look so fine?
“My poor lamb, you must be utterly exhausted.” Lady Augusta put a gentle hand to Elspeth’s face. “We must have some refreshment for you.”
“Thank you, my lady. You are all kindness.”
“Nonsense. I haven’t a kind bone in my body,” the lady claimed while her angelic smile countered her argument. “I trust the Murray sisters will have thoroughly warned you against me.”
Elspeth must have looked conscious, for Lady Ivers laughed. “Well, it is some comfort to know they have not changed a spit, however they have annoyed me by denying me your company. But now we must make up for lost time—I know so little about you. You must tell me all.”
“There is little to tell, my lady. We live at home, quiet and retired.”
“Such a waste of youth,” the lady tsked. “I don’t know how I will ever forgive them, except to make up for lost time. Though you have lived quietly, do you think you should like to go about and see a little of society?”
Elspeth could scarcely believe her good fortune, though she strove mightily not to be overwhelmed by it. “With you to help and guide me, my lady.”
“Just so. You are so like her.” Lady Ivers was all happy, suppressed tears. “Your mother—I see her face when I look at you. And just as intrepid, I should surmise, to have come all this way alone, without permission.” Lady Ivers let out a happy sigh. “So, what do you think of the city—your mother’s city—upon first impression?”
“The city is everything interesting and exciting, my lady, I thank you. Though I confess I also find it rather loud and very dirty.”
“Yes, I imagine you might after an overly quiet life in the country.”
Elspeth realized her life had been more than quiet—it had been small. Dove Cottage was all she had known, but in the easy elegance of Lady Ivers’ garden of a home, she began to feel the prickles and thorns that might have grown on her character along with the roses that rambled up the walls of the auld cottage.
“But Auld Reeky, as we natives call Edinburgh, isn’t so bad, once you get to know her,” Lady Ivers assured Elspeth, while holding out a cup and saucer. “Sugar?”
“No, I thank you, my lady.” Elspeth had never acquired a taste for sweets, growing up in a house with such strict economies that sugar was considered a luxury.
“You must call me Aunt.” Lady Augusta smiled and handed her the cup. “It would mean so much to me.”
“Thank you, Aunt Augusta.” Elspeth took a reviving sip of the strong, hot tea, grateful that this aunt did not seem to have to reuse her tea leaves until they could no longer color the water. “That’s full delicious.”
“Excellent! I must warn you I plan on spoiling you wonderfully, so you’ll have no thought of going home. Which will be a difficult task, I’ll warrant—I’ve no doubt you’re brimming with staunch moral fiber after having been brought up by the sisters Murray.”
“You know my aunts?”
“Oh, yes. We all grew up together, your mother, your father, your aunts and I, though I will point out that I was the youngest.” A wonderfully mischievous twinkle lighted her eyes. “And the one, they will have told you, with the most of the devil in me, though I am sure they will gainsay your father his share. The ‘devil’s cubs’ they called us, and did their best to keep your mother away from our influence. But that only made the nectar of forbidden fruit the sweeter for her. Ah, she was the loveliest girl, your mother. I can see you take after her in that way.” Aunt Augusta smiled and squeezed Elspeth’s hand again in reassurance. “So you, my dear, must of course stay here as long as you should like.”
Elspeth’s relief was more than profound—she felt as if she could draw breath for the first time in hours. “Thank you, Aunt Augusta. That is very generous of you.”
“You are most welcome.” She reached out a hand to gently touch Elspeth’s face. “You know I have thought of you often—every day, in fact. All these years, wondering how you fared, wondering what you were like, if you looked like either of them? They were my greatest friends in the world, your mother and father.”
Something stronger than gratitude made a lump in Elspeth’s throat. “I was afraid you might be ashamed of your illegitimate niece.”
“Illegitimate? Never! What nonsense. Who let you believe such a thing?” The lady’s soft tone went calmly vehement. “Your parents loved each other, and were hand-fasted, which is perfectly legal even if it wasn’t fine enough for the Murrays.” Lady Ivers put her chin up, as if facing an unseen enemy. “If they told you that, they were—and are—wrong. Your parents were married.”
Elspeth’s eyes grew dangerously damp. “Thank you, Aunt Augusta.” It was the kindest, most generous thing anyone had ever said to her.
“I shall box their ears, the sisters Murray, if ever I should see them again.” Aunt Augusta closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to think of them. “So I must take care that I do not ever see them again, for I should so hate to act according to their prejudices! But enough of them and their spleen. I declare I am practically ravenous at the prospect of taking you about the town, for such a lovely girl will find no shortage of partners here in Edinburgh. You shall have your pick of the handsomest young gentlemen in no time.”
Elspeth was more than astonished—she was hopeful. “Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely.” Lady Augusta was confident. “You’re just the sort of pretty, intelligent lass a clever young gentleman likes to talk to. You’ll see. Once we have our way with putting a bit of polish and dash to you, you’ll be just the thing.”
Elspeth hoped she would be some thing. Most devoutly.
Aunt Augusta had none of Elspeth’s reservations, and quite a bit more of her hopefulness—she bore Elspeth up like a butterfly on a breeze. “But you must be exhausted from your journey and all my chatter, so let me show you to your room, and then I must go write some letters canceling my plans for the evening so we might dine quietly at home, just the two of us. I have so much to ask you, but I mustn't exasperate or tire you out.”
“Oh, I am very well used to being exasperated, my lady.” Too late Elspeth realized her unguarded speech was unkind. “Oh, michty me—I should never have said that.”
“You darling girl. You may say and think as you like when you are with me—I insist upon it,” Aunt Augusta laughed. “We shall make you into something of an outspoken bluestocking yet. But here we are.” She threw open the door to a bedchamber. “What do you think?”
What Elspeth thought was that she must certainly be dreaming, for such an elegant spacious chamber was like something out of her imaginings of a less dreary world—even the walls were covered with soft, shimmering blue silk. “I think you must be like the magical godmother in the French fairy tales.”
“You like it. I’m so very glad. Because I will confess that I’ve had it ready for you—made up with you in mind. All these years—four and twenty—though I have done it over once or twice along the way.”
Elspeth could not possibly contain the tears that welled up in her eyes—tears of gratitude, and tears of love along with tears for all the years that she had missed.
“Oh, my darling, don’t cry. Don’t cry!” Aunt Augusta swept her into a comfortably tight embrace. “You are here now and need never leave if you don’t want to. We’ll unpack your trunks and settle you in permanently this very minute.”
“But I haven’t any trunks but the one you sent me, Aunt Augusta,” Elspeth sniffed. “I’ve only the clothes upon my back and a small valise.” She pointed to the small bag into which she had hastily stuffed her few possessions before leaving Dove Cottage.
Elspeth’s lack of both accouterments and refinement was as nothing to Lady Ivers—she waved the difficulty away with a scented handkerchief. “Then my first letter shall be to my dressmaker. And in the meantime, my dresser will delight in making over some gowns to suit you, see if she won’t. But, my dear,” Aunt Augusta asked, turning to the battered trunk that had already been delivered into the room, “does that mean you did not get a chance to open up my gift?”
“Oh!” Elspeth moved toward the dear old trunk that had been her companion on her journey. “Please don’t think me ungrateful. It’s just that there was no time—”
“Of course. You did the right thing to come when you could. But I think now, after my talk of dresses, that you will be sorely disappointed in the contents.” Her aunt unlatched and lifted the heavy lid. “I wish I had some things of your mother’s to give you, but this will have to do.” She lifted a sheaf of foolscap tied in a bundle with twine. “It was your father’s, the trunk, though it just contains some bits of his writings. But I thought you might like to have it.”
“Oh, yes, please.” While Elspeth might have been at least a little disappointed that the trunk did not contain sparkling gemstones and golden doubloons—as one might expect in any self-respecting treasure trunk sent by a mysterious benefactor—she was happy to have anything of her long-unlamented father. “I know so little of him.”
Aunt Augusta sighed. “Poor man—brilliant but perhaps a trifle weak. Or just heartbroken. But his words are still the best of him. I’ve read my brother’s writings many times over the years, and I always feel as if the words bring me closer to him. And I suppose I hoped they would bring you closer to him, as well. Even if they are a bit naughty, his stories. But you are well old enough to think and decide things for yourself now.”
Elspeth could not help but smile at Aunt Augusta’s serene approach to the world. The Aunts Murray had always characterized her father’s book as entirely unfit for tender eyes, and they had always characterized Elspeth as so flighty, so wrapped up in her febrile imagination that she was unfit to render her own judgments of things. Yet she was old enough to decide for herself. “I think I should like to read them.”
“Then you shall. You must learn to think and do as you like, my dear.”