A Song of Sixpence (34 page)

Familiar thoroughfares were being traversed. I saw that we had passed the North British Station and were entering Mortonhall Street. Donohue lowered the window and dispensed with his cheroot, He glanced at me.

‘Where would you like us to drop you?'

I judged it must be well past six o'clock, almost time for me to be starting for my session with Pin.

‘Anywhere near Hillside Street.'

Obligingly, Terence told the driver to make a sweep round the Park. The taxi stopped at the foot of Gilmore Hill, not far from the University, and I got out.

‘I'll be keeping in touch with you, man,' he shouted, as they drove off.

I walked towards Pin's lodging, still rather excited and with a pleasant feeling of importance. It was flattering to have been sought out by Terence, and to have confirmed my innate belief in my own exceptional fleetness of foot. This awareness of my own speed, first implanted in my consciousness when I ran for the doctor for my father, and fostered by my own efforts to maintain myself in condition, was well supported by material evidence, since when I trained with the Ardencaple Harriers I had twice won the race for boys under fourteen at the end of the season Annual Sports. Yes, this was unquestionably a special gift, comparable almost to the capacity for levitation bestowed by heaven on some of the rarer saints. Indeed, when I ran, in the rush of air occasioned by my transit, I not infrequently had the impression that I had temporarily lost contact with terra firma. In view of all this it seemed only just that I should capitalize on my advantages. Terry's handsome proposal was perfectly legitimate, and if Donohue wanted to bet on me that, too, while entirely his affair, was a permissible proceeding. Nevertheless, in its bearing on the Ellison my conscience was not altogether clear, and as I arrived at Hillside Street and climbed the stairs, to Pin's room I decided I must let him have the final word. He was already seated at the table waiting for me, and turning over a sheaf of papers with every appearance of interest.

‘Laurence,' he began immediately, motioning me to the other chair. ‘I've been fortunate enough to get hold of the Ellison exam papers for the last ten years. They make advantageous reading.'

‘Do they, sir?'

‘In the first place, in six out of ten occasions the essay set was devoted exclusively to a Scottish historical character of the sixteenth century. In the second place, I observe that it is exactly ten years since the character selected was Mary, Queen of Scots.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Nothing probably.' He smiled, tugging at his beard. ‘ Still, as a guess, I've an idea it would do us no harm to pay special heed to the fifteen hundreds with a little extra attention to that unfortunate young woman and her immediate circle: Andrew Lang would help us there. I got his biography from the Library today. And how he favours the poor creature!'

He was opening the book when, anxious to clear my mind, I spoke up.

‘Just one thing before we begin, sir.'

I told him that my cousin had asked me to take part in a sports meeting in Berwick two days before the Ellison and that while I had provisionally accepted, if he thought this in any way likely to impair my chances I would immediately withdraw.

He considered, gazing at me with kindness. His face at that moment had a simple dignity that outweighed his absurd deformity, prosy sentimentality and old-maidish ways, and all at once I felt how much I liked him.

‘Why, Laurence, I believe it would be the very thing for you. I always advise a break before an exam. And a day in the open air would be perfect.'

This reasoned approval was a great relief. With renewed ardour I joined Pin in a fresh and more intensive examination of the character of Queen Elizabeth's cousin.

That same evening, when I finished my session with Pin and came out of the house into the street, Nora was not there. Quite often, when the weather was fine, she would walk across the park to meet me and I would find her waiting under the lamp outside No. 212. Then, arm-in-arm, we would stroll back to the Crescent where Miss Donohue, who fancied her talent in this direction, and enjoyed a tasty bite; made welsh rarebit on toast, to which we drank cocoa. The concentrated application demanded of me by Pin had prevented further excursions to the country, nor had Nora herself proposed them. Although I sensed it only vaguely, never having grasped the full significance of these abandoned moments on the houseboat deck, Nora's attitude towards me had undergone a subtle yet material change. I felt that she was fonder of me than before, not quite in the same casual and mischievous way, but always encouraging me, and telling me how she hoped I might win the Ellison. She seemed suddenly to be older, more restrained, and while we kissed with tenderness, something I could not define was missing—solicitude had taken its place. Lately, indeed, I had begun to imagine that something was worrying Nora. Although she denied this and brushed aside my inquiries she often had an absent look and at times appeared thoroughly depressed. As it was more than a week—an unusually long interval—since I had seen her I decided to call in at Park Crescent on my way back.

Here, however, I was unlucky. There was no answer to the bell and though I took trouble to go round to the back court no light was showing in any of the windows. I hung about for a quarter of an hour vainly hoping that Nora or Miss Donohue would turn up. Then I set off along the Crescent towards Craig Hill. This was by no means my shortest route to Argyle Street, yet Craig Hill held a special attraction for me in the shape of a Jesuit church which, contrasting with the many conventional Pugin chapels of the city, was outstandingly attractive, at least to my mind, in a grim Romanesque style. Partly this was due to lack of funds, since the original design to marble the interior had been shelved, leaving stark arches and pillars of brickwork that cast medieval shadows across the nave. Moreover, in the late evening the church was usually empty, darkish and very silent, all of which I liked, and I will confess that I had the habit after leaving Park Crescent—it was in any case the nearest church—to enter this sanctuary not from pure religious fervour, which I could never claim, but, with a trusting heart, in order to solicit heavenly aid for success in the Ellison, without which I felt I would not have a chance.

This evening when I entered, I proceeded to my favourite side altar where there was a replica of Simone Martini's Madonna that I enjoyed looking at, which usually put me in a proper petitioning mood and induced me to part with a penny, if I had one, for a candle. Tonight, however, I could barely see it; all but one of the surrounding votive lights had gone out. A woman, opposite me, was presumably responsible for the single candle, since it was newly lit. Most holy women who lit candles were invariably discovered on their knees with beads between their fingers. But this woman, who was young, merely sat, staring straight ahead, as though hypnotized by the tiny flickering flame she had herself created. Surprise, rather than curiosity, caused me to concentrate my vision through the intervening gloom, then, all at once, with a start of pleasure and surprise, I saw that it was Nora.

I could scarcely believe it. Nora was not devout. I had now discovered that she was careless about such things as not eating meat on Fridays and her Easter duties. Indeed, she was apt to make jokes about holy water and holy smoke that worried me. Yet what happiness it gave me that, aware of my evening habit to light a candle, she should tonight actually have forestalled me and herself made the votive offering for my intention. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. Still unseen, I contemplated her with a rapture that here I usually reserved for heaven. Yet she too, against the background of the altar, her pale, pure profile, softened and made serious by her mood, was like a little madonna. I could wait no longer. Tiptoeing forward, I bent towards her and whispered.

‘Thank you, Nora. Thank you for the candle … and everything.'

‘Laurence,' she said, turning sharply.

‘It's the nicest thing you could ever have done. I'll always remember it.'

She looked at me.

‘Will you?'

‘Yes, I will, Nora. Even if I don't get the Ellison. What made you think of it?'

She looked away.

‘It seems I just did. I was sort of in that kind of mood. Strange, isn't it?'

‘No, Nora. I believe it will help.'

‘I hope you're right,' she said.

There was a silence.

‘Do you want to stay longer?' I asked.

She shook her head. I smiled at her.

‘Then let's go together.'

Outside, as we came down the steps of the church, I took her arm.

‘What a lucky meeting, Nora. I called at the flat but there was no answer. And it's ages since I've seen you. Shall I walk back with you now?'

She stopped at the foot of the steps.

‘I'm not going back yet. I've a message to do … for Miss Donohue.'

‘Where, Nora?'

‘Why … down by Mortonhall Street.'

‘I'll come with you.'

I spoke eagerly, prepared to step out. But she seemed to hesitate and I wondered if my inadvertent discovery of her offering for me had annoyed her, until a moment later she said:

‘Aren't you tired? You must be. After all that study and everything.'

‘I'd never be too tired to walk with you, Nora.'

‘Oh, very well, then,' she said, after the slightest pause. ‘Come along.'

We set off. Had there been the faintest note of impatience in her tone? Impossible. Yet, glancing at her sideways, I had the impression that she was not quite herself. The city was enduring a midsummer heat wave and the evening was still and stifling. Under the street lamps she was pale, with a distant expression and darkish patches under her eyes. She was also unusually silent. But I was dying to tell her about my eventful day.

‘I don't suppose you know that I've been running. And that I'm entered for the Berwick Sports.'

‘Yes, I did hear that was coming off. Apparently we're all supposed to be going in the Gilhooleys' car.'

‘You too?' I cried.

‘It depends. To tell you the truth, dear Laurie,' she turned to me, ‘I've been a little off colour lately.'

‘I'm terribly sorry. What is it?'

‘Oh, just a bit out of sorts. I'm sure I'll be all right soon.'

‘Then do come, Nora. The trip would be good for you.'

‘Well, then, we'll see.'

We were at the end of Craig Hill and had turned into Mortonhall Street, crowded, as usual, and thick with traffic. Not far from Market Cross, near the Market Arcade, she disengaged her arm.

‘This is as far as I'm going.'

We stood on the pavement opposite the Arcade, a covered passageway occupied by odd little interesting establishments: a herbalist's, a queer sort of chemist's, even a fortune-teller and a naturalist's shop with live tortoises in the window. It was here that Mrs Tobin bought the ants' eggs for her goldfish.

‘Before you go, Nora.' It was difficult, I didn't want to keep harping on the subject, but I simply had to get this out. ‘Thanks again for your candle.'

Again I thought I had offended her. But no, as she stepped off the pavement she gave me a faint, wry smile.

‘Well, Laurie, as you probably know, I'm not all that religious, but when you want a thing badly enough you'll try anything.'

I could not speak for an overflowing gratitude. Her manner, the very words she used, told me how much she was behind me in my effort. I waited till she had crossed the street, then, still uplifted, took my own short cut to Argyle Street and the Templar's Hall.

At half past eight on the morning of Saturday, August 5th, I set out for the Criterion Hotel. Although the sky was still grey, the softness in the air was refreshing after the recent heat. I had said nothing to Uncle Leo of my plans. The good news from my mother made me hope that, if all went well, I should not be with him long. Her appointment in the Department of Health was now assured and she expected to be back in Winton within the next few weeks. She would then surely terminate my stop-gap arrangement with Leo.

Although Terence had insisted on an early start I expected that I should have to wait, but when I approached the hotel I saw that the red car was already drawn up outside the entrance with Terence in the driver's seat and Miss Gilhooley beside him.

As I hurried forward Terence waved his arm in greeting.

‘Glad to see you, man. How do you feel?'

‘Fine, thank you, Terry.'

‘Hop in the back then. The others won't be a minute, Nora's just gone in for a coffee.'

As I stepped into the rear seat Miss Gilhooley half turned and exposed her gold teeth in a welcoming smile. She had on a showy check coat and a flat saucer hat secured with her favourite pink tulle. She might be Miss Donohue's best customer, and undoubtedly her expenditure in Earle's was lavish, yet I had never known anyone who contrived to look so garish, an effect which she intensified by a variety of vulgar affectations. She was always fluttering about, primping herself, touching up her hair, powdering her nose, looking in her handbag, patting herself in unexpected places, examining her finger-nails, straining her neck, gesturing with genteel flicks of her wrists or demanding unnecessary attentions from Terence with an air of languishing feminine charm. Miss Gilhooley was neither beautiful nor youthful and her pretensions to these attributes together with her habit of prefacing every other remark with the words ‘ I always say …' seriously offended me, even though she now greeted me with gracious condescension.

‘Good morning, young man. I hope you're going to make a nice bit of cash for me today.'

‘Are you in need of cash, Miss Gilhooley?'

Terence gave a loud laugh.

‘He had you there, Josey. We all know what the name Gilhooley stands for. But what's keeping Nora?'