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.