The progress was getting too long for me and I was anxious to settle at Edinburgh. What was a joyous journey was now a chore. I grew tired and sore from riding. I wanted to soak in a warm bath for hours and know that for one day I would not have to go anywhere and do anything, not even dress up. Certainly that meant I was exhausted, for I cherished my finery and most any opportunity to don it. Accompanied by eighteen hundred ladies and gentlemen, dressed so fine they looked more like dolls than people, we approached Lamberton Kirk, where we encountered the Scots. They were the most glamorous barbarians I had ever seen! Surely I did not think them capable of dressing so fine, but they wore their damasks and cloth of gold and silver much like we did. It was only that crude accent that separated us. My hair and gown were threaded with pearls and I was disconcerted by this, for pearls were a symbol of mourning and I had had my fill of that. I banished these dark thoughts from my mind, however, as I lay in my litter gazing at the assemblage of Scots in wonderment.
