The plaintive skirl of the bagpipes became one cacophony of sound as the pipers from all three faux regiments joined up. ‘Is your wee Highland heart stirred by this?’
Constance wrinkled her nose. ‘I have always loathed the sound. And to think this is just the beginning of the gathering of the clans, as Sir Walter will doubtless call it. Where on earth will they all stay?’
‘Not in any comfort, that’s for sure. There will be tents pitched down there before long, where the Nor’ Loch once was, I’ll wager. Your Mrs Winston could likely make herself a small fortune renting rooms out for the duration. Perhaps you could ask her to put us up?’ The skirl of the pipes was so loud that he had to pull her close, and to speak into her ear to be heard. Which was no hardship. ‘You and I, under the same roof? Now there’s a thought that’s both terrifying and oddly tempting.’
‘Tempting! You’d wake Angus, if you went creeping about the house in the night, and then Angus would wake everyone else.’
The pipes dwindled to a discordant drone. ‘Angus and I are best friends, don’t expect him to guard your virtue.’
‘This conversation is taking an indecent turn. Don’t look at me like that!’ Constance was blushing again. ‘Time is getting on. If we’re to take a look at some hotels, we should make a start.’
‘If Oman’s on Charlotte Square has some decent rooms we won’t need to look any further.’ He took her hand, kissing her palm through her glove. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
Castle Hill was steep, narrow and crowded. The sun had given up on the city this afternoon, and the sky was grey, lowering, the tenement buildings looming so high that they all but blocked the light. At the Lawnmarket the road widened, but the noise increased tenfold as various roads converged. Carts and carriages clattered on the cobblestones on the way up from the High Street laden with goods from the docks, meeting occupied sedan chairs and horses and ponies and donkeys from the bridge that crossed over into the New Town, and from the Grassmarket below. Walking was a task that required a great deal of attention if a person was to keep one eye on the traffic and another on the cobbles, which were treacherous with mud and thankfully unidentifiable filth.
‘At least in Glasgow, there is room to walk, and the tenements are not so near nor so tall,’ Grayson muttered. ‘Did you say there’s going to be some sort of procession here?’
‘Parading the ceremonial chest holding the Scottish crown all the way from the castle down these streets to Holyrood Palace,’ Constance replied. ‘Then it’s planned that the King will take the same route, from the palace back up the Royal Mile to the castle to the cheers of the watching masses.’
‘How will anyone see anything, for heaven’s sake?’ He pulled them both into the shelter of a narrow wynd to allow a boy with a barrow to pass. ‘There’s hardly an inch of space as it is.’
‘They are planning to put up viewing platforms by the roadside.’
‘Death traps, those will be, especially if some enterprising person sells the space twice over. I certainly won’t be one of the customers.’
‘When the King lands, he will be driven in state from Leith and given the keys of the city near Picardy Place—you remember, where the road widens out at the top of Leith Walk? If you are quick, you may be able to rent a window seat in one of the tenements there for your children.’
‘Thank you, I’ll look into it. I take it you’ll not be competing with me for a place to watch the spectacle?’ Grayson slanted her a smile. ‘One thing’s for sure, there’s no need for you to book a lesson from an actress in kissing.’
‘One kisses the King’s cheek, not his lips!’
‘You’re more than welcome to practise on me.’
‘I won’t be attending a lady’s drawing room,’ she said, her mouth prim in her effort not to smile. ‘Nor will I be paying three shillings a yard for plaid to make a sash for my ballgown. That’s what they are charging you know, in the Scottish Tartan, Shawl and Silk Warehouse over there.’ She indicated a large shop front on the North Bridge that they were crossing. ‘A shilling a yard is what it usually sells for, and when Mr Scott’s dress code is published, and his notion of the Garb of Old Gaul described, I reckon they’ll put the price up to at least five.’
‘A dress code! Are you joking?’
‘Indeed, I am not. There is a dress code for everyday wear, and a specific one for each of the set-piece entertainments too. You will be expected to wear a plaid or some form of tartan in the King’s presence, you know.’
‘Then it’s as well I’m not planning on being in his presence, for I refuse to wear a skirt.’
‘That’s very unpatriotic! It’s also a crying shame for unlike some, it is my humble opinion that you have the legs for it. Mind you, since my experience is somewhat limited, that’s not exactly an informed opinion.’
‘It’s the only one I’m interested in,’ Grayson retorted. ‘If we go this way, we’ll avoid Princes Street, it might be a bit less crowded. Watch now, while we cross the road.’
‘I’m capable of crossing the street unaided, you know. I’ve been managing for some six years.’
‘Accept my apologies.’
But he held tightly to her all the same until they had crossed and were heading up St David’s Street to St Andrew’s Square, where the bustle did indeed lessen somewhat. They slowed their steps and walked in a companionable silence along George Street until they reached Charlotte Square. The palace fronts of the houses were designed by Robert Adam, and though work had begun in the previous century, the square had not long been completed.
* * *
Oman’s newest and most prestigious hotel was located at Number Six Charlotte Square, and occupied the central pavilion on the north side, with an impressive frontage in the Palladian style, complete with large fanlight above the front door, and Corinthian pillars. The reception hall smelled of fresh flowers and beeswax, and the large drawing room, dining room and library which made up the rooms on the ground floor were opulently decorated in, to Constance’s mind, a rather oppressive style.
‘Good afternoon. I am Nigel Urquhart, I have the honour of being in charge of this fine establishment.’ The man who greeted them, dressed in black trousers and coat, with a gold waistcoat, had a stately gait and an owlish appearance. He had a beak-like nose and a supercilious expression. ‘I’m afraid that all the superior suites have already been reserved for the royal visit,’ he informed them after Grayson had introduced himself and stated his business. ‘Our clientele includes some of the most eminent members of the Scottish peerage, and all will be arriving here in August to pay homage. Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll will be residing here for His Majesty’s visit, as will the Marquis and Marchioness of Lothian, and—’
‘And myself, accompanied by my two children, if you have rooms I consider fit for us,’ Grayson interrupted. ‘Do you have any, or am I wasting my time? This might jog your memory.’
It was a banknote he slipped the man, Constance noticed, not a coin, and it bought them a considerably warmer smile and a set of keys. ‘I’ve just remembered that we had a cancellation only this morning. The Caledonian Suite is available, though I’m afraid it must be reserved for the whole month of August, since we are not yet privy to His Majesty’s plans. There are two bedrooms and a sitting room where you would be able to dine in private if you so desire. However, most of our guests choose to eat in the main dining salon. As I’m sure you are aware, Oman’s reputation for fine food is second to none in the capital.’
‘Then I suggest we put that proud boast to the test for ourselves with an early dinner, once we’ve had a look at the rooms, assuming you’ve a table?’
‘But of course, Mr Maddox. I am sure you and your wife won’t be disappointed. The dining room is on the left. There is a salon just through there, facing out on to the gardens, where our guests can relax after dinner, and there are—excuse
me—retiring rooms just here, if you or your wife wish to refresh yourself. No? Well, allow me to show you the Caledonian Suite. It’s on the second floor, if you’ll follow me.’
‘After you, my dear Mrs Maddox.’
Grayson smiled mischievously at her. Constance allowed him to usher her towards the impressive oak staircase, casting him a quizzical look over her shoulder but saying nothing, conscious of Mr Urquhart watching them. The panelling of the first-floor landing was adorned with a number of landscapes which were presumably meant to depict the Highlands, if the abundance of purple hills and stags at bay were anything to go by. On the second floor, gilded wall sconces took the place of portraits. A corridor led off in each direction, a long runner of red carpet covering the polished floorboards.
Mr Urquhart ushered them to the right, stopping at the first door, which he opened with a flourish before standing to one side to allow them to enter. ‘The Caledonian Suite.’
If Grayson was impressed he kept it well hidden, but Constance struggled not to gasp in astonishment. Closing her ears to Mr Urquhart’s eulogies, she wandered around the sitting room, trailing her hands over the rich gold and cream brocade of the two sofas which sat facing each other in front of a white marble hearth. The gold velvet curtains which hung in heavy folds over the three sets of windows had a thick, soft nap. The cornice was patterned in latticework, painted stark white, while the walls were duck-egg blue adorned with more purple heather landscapes, the only jarring note in the otherwise extremely tasteful room. There were fresh flowers in the grate and on the occasional tables. A huge mirror hung over the fireplace, with gilded wall sconces on either side. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling. Her feet sank into the rich, soft rugs.
The smallest of the bedchambers was obviously designed for a servant, containing only a small bed, a nightstand and cupboard, and a chair, though the boards were polished and a rug was positioned by the bed. The second bedchamber was substantially bigger, painted all in white with a Chinese paper on the walls above the waist-height panelling, and a huge bed draped with too many pillows to count. The final bedchamber, obviously Mr Urquhart’s pièce de résistance, was a study in pink. The huge bed had a cerise damask canopy with gold tassels, the headboard gilded with gold leaf. The bedcover was rose-pink, woven from silk and velvet, the walls were flocked in magenta. The chaise longue which sat at the foot of the bed, the chairs which faced each other across the fireplace, and even the chair which sat at the escritoire, were all covered in pink.
As the clock on the mantel began to chime, Mr Urquhart frowned, checking the time with his watch. ‘If you will excuse me, Mr and Mrs Maddox, I’m afraid I have a pressing matter of business to attend to. Please take your time and have a good look around. I will be available downstairs later if you have any questions. Mr Maddox, if you will grant me a word.’
* * *
‘What did he want?’ Constance jumped guiltily off the pink bed as Grayson returned.
‘To confirm that I could afford the price, and to inform me that he’d want a portion of it paid in advance since I’m not yet a regular customer.’
‘Is it expensive?’
‘No, it is exorbitant, though I’m not such a bumpkin as to have agreed to what he quoted me, which amounted to extortion. You learn quickly in business that everything is negotiable.’
‘I had no idea that hotels could be so luxurious.’
‘It’s not remotely to my taste, but Shona and Neil will like it, and that’s what matters.’
‘You’ll have a fight on your hands over which one of them has to sleep in the servant’s room.’
‘No, I won’t, for that will be mine.’
‘But...’
‘Come on, can you see me in this room, lounging around in a silk dressing gown?’
A burst of laughter escaped her. ‘No, perhaps not!’
‘Don’t tell me you like all this ostentation?’
‘I prefer the other room, the white one with the Chinese wallpaper.’
‘It is very nice, I’ll grant you,’ Grayson said, following her into the room, ‘but it will have to be Neil’s or else, as you say, I’d have a fight on my hands.’
‘You must be very well off, to be able to afford all this, even if you did barter the price down. You could have fitted our entire schoolhouse into two of these rooms, and a village cottage into one.’
‘I was not born into money, Constance. I was raised up in a tenement close in Glasgow. Two rooms, one for living and one for my parents to sleep in. My bed was in a recess in the kitchen.’
‘I don’t mean anything by the comparison,’ she said shutting the lid again, ‘save that this is luxury beyond anything I’ve experienced.’
She sat down at a walnut escritoire. Carefully opening the lid, she tried to imagine writing on the pristine green leather blotter. She’d be too worried about leaving ink spots on the white upholstery.
‘I don’t have any objection to those who have earned it enjoying their wealth. Despite what some might think, I’m not a revolutionary.’
‘Who thinks that you are?’
Paul’s words of caution this morning, her failure to reignite in him the passion which still burned so fiercely in her own heart, made her long for a more sympathetic ear. For a moment, she considered confiding in Grayson, but only for a moment. She had lived and breathed her crusade for so long. Grayson was a much-needed respite from the battle she was coming terrifyingly close to losing.
‘I simply believe it’s wrong to profit from the suffering of others,’ she hedged.
He was turning a porcelain figurine around in his hand, frowning down at it. ‘Are you thinking that I’m the type to exploit my workers, so that I can afford to house my children in the lap of luxury?’
‘No! Good grief no, that’s so preposterous it never crossed my mind. Though I must admit, I had not thought you so wealthy.’
Grayson set down the figurine. ‘If that means you’re about to shun me on a matter of principle, I promise I’ll give it all away, the moment I get home.’
‘Your children would have something to say about that.’
‘True, very true. I’m afraid that Neil and Shona are a wee bit too used to living in what you call the lap of luxury and I would be very reluctant to do anything that might estrange them. Would it be all right with you if I let them stay on at Queen’s Gate, as long as I camped out in a tent in the back garden?’
‘Queen’s Gate sounds very grand.’
‘Oh, it is, and every time I step through the front door, I feel like I’m an interloper, though it’s nearly ten years since we moved in. I’d have been happy to stay where we were, but my late wife had put up with living in a cottage for long enough. Not that it was a cottage mind, it was a perfectly good house, but she was used to better.’
‘And you worked hard to make sure she had it.’
He wandered over to stare out of the window, his hands dug deep into his coat pockets. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Eliza never demanded, or expected, or complained. She never once said that she’d married beneath her, though it was clear from the start that’s what her parents thought. And she was ashamed of our circumstances, I know she was, though she never said. She wouldn’t invite any of her friends to visit, though there was room enough and I told her often enough that they’d be welcome. It was too far for them to travel, she always said. I wondered sometimes if it was me she was ashamed of.’
He pressed his forehead to the glass. Indignant as she was, Constance kept her thoughts to herself. Grayson was such an honourable man, and for such an immensely successful one, surprisingly self-deprecating. It wasn’t fair of her to condemn a dead woman, and his Eliza must have had some guts, to go against her family’s wishes and marry him in the first place.
‘I had a perfectly happy marriage. If Eliza had not died, we’d be happily married still. When I lost her, I
thought my world had ended, but when you’ve two young ones to look after, you can’t afford to indulge in self-pity. It took some adjusting, I won’t deny it, but I’m content enough now. I’m busy, Shona and Neil are happy. Like I said before, I don’t want to risk rocking the boat. We miss Eliza, but there’s no big gaping hole for her to fill. If she was miraculously restored to us, I wonder if she’d even fit in now.’
Grayson turned back to face her. ‘That sounds harsh, but it’s the truth. What is it about you? I’ve never told a living soul any of this before. I wasn’t even aware I was thinking some of it. I’m just going to take another look at that wee room, make sure my feet won’t hang out of the end of the bed. Why don’t you wait for me in the sitting room?’
Constance did as he bid, for it was obvious he wanted a moment alone. There was a seat built into one of the windows of the sitting room, strewn with tasselled cushions. If this was her room, she would sit here in the morning with a book and a pot of tea. If she could afford to live in this place, she could afford a portable writing desk, so that she could work here too.
Sitting down, hugging one of the cushions to her, she tried to imagine such a life, but it was pointless. She couldn’t see beyond the life she was living now. If Paul had his way it would end, and soon. She had a matter of weeks to succeed in doing what she’d signally failed to do over the last four years. Her work was her heart and soul, her life’s blood. She ate, slept and dreamt her work. It was all she had, and all she was. Failure was simply not an option.
Frowning, she set the cushion down and went over to look at herself in the mirror. The weight of her self-imposed mission, the pain and the passion she had expended over the years, was almost too much to bear. She rarely thought of her sacrifices, rarely considered them sacrifices at all, but meeting Grayson had brought home to her how isolated she’d been.
A Forbidden Liaison with Miss Grant Page 7
