Oh, hell, of course I knew him. Yes, he was a player. Yes, he was dangerous to a woman’s heart. No, I couldn’t claim to know his every thought and reason for doing what he did. But I was still willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that he never would have fallen for this insipid woman.
And that was my final answer.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” Helen said, still rubbing Serena’s back.
“I would love that,” she said. “You’re so thoughtful, Helen.”
“ Brooklyn, can you join us?” Helen asked.
“Uh, no,” I said quickly. “Thank you. You enjoy your lunch. I’ve got some research to do before my workshop.”
“Maybe we can have a drink later,” Helen said in a hopeful tone.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Leave a message for me. Nice meeting you, Serena.”
“You, too.”
I took deep breaths and tried to think good thoughts as I walked away. I considered exploring more of the book fair, but meeting Serena had sucked the joy out of the day. And speaking of joy sucking, I suddenly realized I might run into Minka if I stayed here much longer.
I rubbed my arms as goose bumps broke out. Just thinking about Minka made me uneasy. What if I saw her here? I’d deliberately avoided walking near Perry McDougall’s booth, where I thought she would be working, but now it occurred to me that she could be anywhere.
That was when I remembered there was something I needed to take care of. Something that would take my mind off Serena and the possibility that Kyle had been married to her all this time.
I walked a little faster and exited the wide doors of the book fair pavilion and entered the hotel lobby, where I stopped at the front desk to pick up the Robert Burns. With nothing on my schedule until a cocktail party later that afternoon, I went to my room and spent forty-five minutes checking online sources in hopes of verifying Kyle’s story and finding a connection between Robert Burns and Princess Augusta Sophia.
I found very little online and began to wonder if Kyle or someone in his family had made up the whole story. I preferred to think someone had lied to Kyle rather than deal with the possibility that my old pal had blatantly lied to me.
Of course, if he’d truly been involved with Serena for all those years, “blatant liar” was the nicest thing I could think to call him. But with Royce’s insistence that Serena was the liar, I would hold my judgment until I had further proof.
I pulled out my paperback book of Robert Burns poetry and looked through the index of poems. I laid it next to the Cathcart edition and compared the two lists. There were several poems in the Cathcart that weren’t in the paperback, but that didn’t mean anything. Different editions of any poet’s works often omitted some and included others. But when I checked the questionable poem titles online, I found no references for them. It was just as Kyle had said.
I searched for more information on Princess Augusta Sophia and found that she’d led an extremely sheltered life, never marrying or having any children. So where were the husband and baby Kyle had mentioned? There was one Web site that suggested she gave birth to an illegitimate son sometime before 1800. But that same site called her by a different middle name, so I certainly had to question its credibility.
Added to that, there was the niggling little fact that Robert Burns had died in 1796. So a child of his would’ve definitely been born well before 1800.
“Duh,” I said. Sitting back in my chair, I tapped my fingers on the desk. At this point, I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for or why it mattered anymore. Well, except for the fact that if it were true, it would literally change history. Did it matter? Did I care?
I did. It would be one last tip of the hat to my old friend Kyle to prove the story true. It might allow him to rest in peace, if only in my own mind. And I could rub that in Perry’s face, which was always a plus. Yankee bitch, my butt. He had no idea what a bitch this Yankee could be.
That thought made me smile.
Figuring a visit by a royal princess would’ve been all over the newspapers of that day, I started a search for Edinburgh papers in business in the late seventeen hundreds. That led me to the National Library of Scotland Web site, where they’d digitized every newspaper in the country from 1600 to the present. The problem was, the information had to be accessed in person.
“Oh, great,” I murmured. But I checked the library location just in case, and as luck would have it, the main library was just a few blocks from the hotel. Looking out my window, I decided it was a perfect day for a walk.
I locked up my computer, grabbed my purse and warm jacket and went downstairs to return the book to the safe. I stopped at the concierge to get directions, and he was nice enough to insist on calling the library to verify that, as a book fair presenter, I could obtain a reader’s ticket immediately. It was like a temporary pass, which I would need if I wanted to use their computer system. I thanked the concierge and took off for the National Library.
Outside, I breathed in the clear air of the ancient city. I had a moment of guilt, knowing I should be inside, meeting booksellers and talking up my business, but the thought of running into Minka or Serena or Perry made my stomach churn. I loved books and I loved my work, but I seriously needed a break.
The haunting sound of bagpipes drifted up a narrow alley, and just for a moment I felt transported to another time. I took another deep breath. Intellectually, I knew the man in the kilt was playing the pipes for the benefit of tourists, who would throw coins in the box he’d placed on the sidewalk, but it didn’t matter as the wail of the pipes moved me to tears.
Yes, I seriously needed a break.
The wind was brisk as I turned the corner at George IV Bridge. I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands in my pockets and walked until I found the big square building that housed the National Library of Scotland.
At the front desk, I showed my passport to the assistant librarian and filled out the necessary forms; then the librarian issued me a short-term ticket and a password. I followed her directions to the North Reading Room and logged on to one of the available computers.
After an hour of searching through their database of local newspapers, I knew plenty about the royal family of King George III but next to nothing about a possible liaison between Robert Burns and Princess Augusta Sophia. And my shoulders were beginning to ache from hunching in front of the computer screen.
There were vague indications that the family might’ve traveled to Scotland, but there was no mention of the princess specifically. And even if she had been allowed to visit the rough northern capital of Scotland, Queen Charlotte, her mother, was reported to have protected her six daughters fiercely-and not in a happy, friendly mama-kitty kind of way.
Evidently, Kyle was right about that.
The girls had been sheltered, of course, but this was ridiculous. The queen had assigned them all to be her ladies-in-waiting. They were rarely allowed to attend dances.
I tried to imagine a spirited Augusta Sophia sneaking off to do some quality flirting with the darling bad-boy poet of Scotland. But it wasn’t working. As much as I’d have liked to make it true, it just didn’t fly for me.
I rubbed my eyes and sat back. I’d always figured being a princess would be a kick in the pants, but for poor Augusta Sophia it sounded like drudgery. What kind of a life had she led if all she’d done was tote and lift for her pushy mother, never partying, never marrying or having kids?
And to top it off, her dad, old King George III, had gone mad. That couldn’t have made for much merriment at the family dinner table.
On the other hand, the king and queen managed to give birth to fifteen children, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have their own good times. Too bad their daughters hadn’t been allowed to have their own fun.