ages. Shall we?’
‘A splendid idea.’
But before we left there were domestic matters to consider. I hadn’t any guest accommodation in the Tower. I thought of all those empty, damp and cold, dusty rooms upstairs and decided we could get by if Vince had my bedroom and I slept downstairs. So I asked, ‘Will you be staying here?’
Perhaps he recognised the anxiety in my voice, for he smiled. ‘Dear Rose, much as I would love to stay with you, I am bound to stay at the Station Hotel. There is a suite always prepared and ready for emergencies so that passengers on the royal train can literally be on call. Do you mind terribly?’
I didn’t. Although it was great to have Vince in Edinburgh for a day or two, it was also a relief that I was not to provide him with bed and board since I might make an accurate guess that Balmoral provided luxuries which were no part of my spartan existence.
As we strode down the road arm in arm I realised that Vince had never been able to accept the Tower as a place to live – the circumstances of its inheritance from the previous owner perhaps still aroused uneasy memories.
I resolved to enjoy every moment of Vince’s visit, whatever its length, short or long, and I was not going to let the subject of Elma sully our precious time together.
I would lay that firmly aside but it was not until I was alone that I felt sad. For as well as acquiring a new personality I did not immediately recognise, my dear stepbrother had added a cynicism, which could only be the result of his new lifestyle and the circles he moved in.
There were, however, vestiges evident of the boy I was pleased to see still existed. When we entered the funfair he threw away all dignity to the four winds, relishing the merry-go-round usually the province of small children. I was persuaded to join him a second time round, and he would have had a third.
We marched through the sideshows with their enticing lurid posters – Arab belly dancers very daringly underclad – and barkers enticing male audiences.
‘Do you remember Wordsworth’s great poem you learnt by heart and used to recite when you were a little girl?’
‘I still remember it.’
‘Do you really? Those were such fun days when our dear Mrs Brook inevitably had to take you and Emily to the circus in Stepfather’s absence. Some of the lines stick in my memory:
“The Wax-work, Clock-work, all the marvellous craft
Of modern Merlins, Wild Beasts, Puppet-shows,
All out-o’-the-way, far-fetched, perverted things,
All freaks of nature…
All jumbled up together, to compose
A Parliament of Monsters.”’
He paused and shook his head. ‘They’re all the bits I still remember.’
‘Bravo!’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Ah, and here are the freak shows. The very thing.’
‘No, please!’ I hoped to avoid them but Vince insisted, sternly reminding me that from a medical point of view this was a challenge.
The fat lady and the smallest man he pronounced were all done with mirrors. He was restrained from a closer examination of a calf with two heads and a pony with five legs and came away shaking his head, sure that these miracles could be achieved by a piece of clever grafting.
At the shooting range, always a good shot thanks to his recent practice during the grouse-shooting season at Balmoral, he excelled himself until the proprietor begged him to leave.
‘Go away, sir, or I’ll be ruined. All my trophies gone, the stall laid bare,’ he pleaded despairingly.
Vince graciously returned all he had won. Glad I was of that, too, as I watched in horror an accumulation of dreadful china dogs and hideous vases – trophies that could not possibly accompany him back to St James,destined to remain with me, their splendours hidden behind the closed doors of a cupboard in Solomon’s Tower.
‘Fancy having your fortune told, Rose?’ And there was the booth: ‘“Seraphina, clairvoyant to the greatest in the land.” You couldn’t get a better
‘A splendid idea.’
But before we left there were domestic matters to consider. I hadn’t any guest accommodation in the Tower. I thought of all those empty, damp and cold, dusty rooms upstairs and decided we could get by if Vince had my bedroom and I slept downstairs. So I asked, ‘Will you be staying here?’
Perhaps he recognised the anxiety in my voice, for he smiled. ‘Dear Rose, much as I would love to stay with you, I am bound to stay at the Station Hotel. There is a suite always prepared and ready for emergencies so that passengers on the royal train can literally be on call. Do you mind terribly?’
I didn’t. Although it was great to have Vince in Edinburgh for a day or two, it was also a relief that I was not to provide him with bed and board since I might make an accurate guess that Balmoral provided luxuries which were no part of my spartan existence.
As we strode down the road arm in arm I realised that Vince had never been able to accept the Tower as a place to live – the circumstances of its inheritance from the previous owner perhaps still aroused uneasy memories.
I resolved to enjoy every moment of Vince’s visit, whatever its length, short or long, and I was not going to let the subject of Elma sully our precious time together.
I would lay that firmly aside but it was not until I was alone that I felt sad. For as well as acquiring a new personality I did not immediately recognise, my dear stepbrother had added a cynicism, which could only be the result of his new lifestyle and the circles he moved in.
There were, however, vestiges evident of the boy I was pleased to see still existed. When we entered the funfair he threw away all dignity to the four winds, relishing the merry-go-round usually the province of small children. I was persuaded to join him a second time round, and he would have had a third.
We marched through the sideshows with their enticing lurid posters – Arab belly dancers very daringly underclad – and barkers enticing male audiences.
‘Do you remember Wordsworth’s great poem you learnt by heart and used to recite when you were a little girl?’
‘I still remember it.’
‘Do you really? Those were such fun days when our dear Mrs Brook inevitably had to take you and Emily to the circus in Stepfather’s absence. Some of the lines stick in my memory:
“The Wax-work, Clock-work, all the marvellous craft
Of modern Merlins, Wild Beasts, Puppet-shows,
All out-o’-the-way, far-fetched, perverted things,
All freaks of nature…
All jumbled up together, to compose
A Parliament of Monsters.”’
He paused and shook his head. ‘They’re all the bits I still remember.’
‘Bravo!’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Ah, and here are the freak shows. The very thing.’
‘No, please!’ I hoped to avoid them but Vince insisted, sternly reminding me that from a medical point of view this was a challenge.
The fat lady and the smallest man he pronounced were all done with mirrors. He was restrained from a closer examination of a calf with two heads and a pony with five legs and came away shaking his head, sure that these miracles could be achieved by a piece of clever grafting.
At the shooting range, always a good shot thanks to his recent practice during the grouse-shooting season at Balmoral, he excelled himself until the proprietor begged him to leave.
‘Go away, sir, or I’ll be ruined. All my trophies gone, the stall laid bare,’ he pleaded despairingly.
Vince graciously returned all he had won. Glad I was of that, too, as I watched in horror an accumulation of dreadful china dogs and hideous vases – trophies that could not possibly accompany him back to St James,destined to remain with me, their splendours hidden behind the closed doors of a cupboard in Solomon’s Tower.
‘Fancy having your fortune told, Rose?’ And there was the booth: ‘“Seraphina, clairvoyant to the greatest in the land.” You couldn’t get a better
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