Candlemas (6 page)

‘So what if I did? What devil are you, then, to come and question me?'

Roger looked back, at the sound of the flesher's raised voice. There were other people in the street, though most had kept their distance from the flesher's courtyard, which was far from clean. Hew answered very softly, ‘Was John Blair asleep, when you brought the pail?'

The butcher hesitated. The fact he paused to think suggested what he said would most likely be a lie. But he could not decide. Finally he said, ‘He was dipping candles. He was not asleep.'

‘Yet it was very late.'

‘He required the tallow to complete his work. I brought him what I had.'

‘You brought him what you had earlier in the day. But he had refused it. He said it was foul.'

‘That is true. I wanted to oblige him. But I had no better in the shop. I had to find more sheep.' The flesher answered easily. He had fallen for the trap, and did not wonder why; it was a relief to tell the simple truth.

‘That was a great length to go to. It must have been quite inconvenient,' Hew said sympathetically.

‘That is what we do. There is no separate deacon of the candlemakers' gild, so they look to ours, for help and benefit. The fleshers have always worked closely with them. Our interests are tied. They use our mort cloth, when one of them dies.'

The mort cloth covered coffins on their way to burial. ‘Apt, don't you think?' Hew remarked. ‘You shared other interests too. Did you ken he kept a book, in which he wrote your debts? Your interest was substantial. In that book he kept, he wrote down everything. He wrote down what was owed and he wrote down what was paid. And, as I suppose, he gave out a receipt. On the day he died, he had written that you owed a pail of tallow, and the sum of seven pounds. Neither was crossed off. I wonder why that was.'

‘He mentioned no receipt. But he was very tired. No doubt he fell asleep,' the flesher answered stubbornly, ‘before he had got round to it.'

‘That is it, perhaps. But shall I tell what I rather think? I think you came with your tallow, and you found him fast asleep. Did you have the money, also, in your purse? Or did you have a tale that you had spent it on the sheep? In either case, you saw a short reprieve. You put the tallow down, and turned to go. You did not leave the money, for we found none in the house. But then, you looked at him. And he was really very sound asleep. The force of his exertions, his want of proper rest, the letting of his blood, that left him worn and weak, conspired to reassure you he would not awake. He had opened out the binding and offered up the vein, as though it were a gift. How could you refuse? How simple it would be to take the sharpest blade you carried in your belt and open up the wound; what surgeon's art more supple than the butcher's knife.'

‘This is slander, sir, and I will not hear it! If I killed him, if, why would I leave behind the bucket with my mark on it? Ha? Ha! Answer me that!' It was plain that the flesher had rehearsed this many times; it was almost a relief to him to play the part at last.

‘You ask a pertinent question, sir, and that you ask it quickly undermines your words. I expect you have asked it over and again, ever since you saw that it was a mistake. To your credit, I suppose the killing was an impulse, one you did not have in mind when you first set out. A novice, after all, cannot think of everything.'

The flesher said boldly, ‘That is a lie, and cannot be proved.'

‘I grant it will be hard. But there is in our college a fine anatomist, who is especially skilled in identifying wounds. He has a kind of glass, that will tell him at a glance, if the flesh was torn by a
single blade or two. And if there is a smear of sheep fat in a vein, or the smallest scrap of wool, he is sure to find it out.'

‘You are the devil!' The flesher lunged at Hew, and Hew knocked the boning knife deftly from his hand. As it clattered to the ground, Roger wandered up, a pig snout in his hand. ‘How much is this?' he inquired.

‘A glass, in which a man can see the matter in a wound? Whoever would believe in such a thing?' demanded Giles.

They were sitting in the safety of the turret tower, where Hew had spilled his tale. ‘There are people who believe a corpse can name its killer,' he replied.

‘As often, in a certain sense, it can. Your logic is fantastical. How I wish I had that kind of glass.'

‘It matters not,' said Hew, ‘since he did not confess. The case cannot be proved.'

‘But doubtless, if the flesher is indicted for the crime, you will be a witness, and must serve upon the jury,' Giles pointed out.

‘I suppose I must. Yet what justice can there be, when the jury is selected from such men as ken the evidence, and the panel too. It has always struck me as skewed,' objected Hew.

‘Nonetheless, if I accuse the flesher in my own report, and the sheriff is disposed to issue an indictment, you are the witness central to the case. You will not find it hard to convince the rest. As juror, you will have more sway upon them than the king's own advocate. A magic glass, indeed.'

Hew was silent for a moment, for he had not thought of that.

‘If the man has sense,' said Giles, ‘he will not wait around to hear you stand against him, but even as we speak will be packing up his bags. Whatever is the outcome, it is not a happy one.'

‘Yet for Sam,' insisted Hew, ‘there is justice of a sort. He is rid of the horror that he caused John Blair's death. And relief has made of him a different sort of man.'

‘It does not help me much in writing my report. For the truth is, Sam did practise phlebotomy, when his inclination and the season spoke against it, and his judgement was impaired by interests of his own. Though I do not indict him on a murder charge, can I recommend to the deacon of his gild that such a barber-surgeon should not be struck off?'

‘I understand your qualms. Yet I believe you should. For Sam, in this case, did everything he could to ensure that Blair was safe. He warned him of the danger, and took every care, to keep him in good health. His instruments were clean, and he told him to rest. If John Blair had followed his surgeon's sound advice, he would still be well. But he was adamant, quite adamant, that he must be bled. And we must wonder why.'

‘I do wonder it,' said Giles. ‘It is not common practice in a patient.'

‘In the first place, he did not take heed of his surgeon's words as keenly as he should. He believed, wrongly, that Sam Sturrock was refusing him the treatment he required because he had encroached upon the surgeon's trade; therefore, he was well disposed to disregard his sound advice. And, in the second place, he had it on the highest, most impeccable authority that bleeding was the proper course in his state of health. He had it from the mouth of the finest of physicians. Whose opinion, for sure, he valued over Sam's.'

‘What physician?' murmured Giles. ‘I understood that none was called.'

‘Nor was there, at the time. But the candlemaker Blair had paid to have a horoscope, that telt to him the details of his disposition. And what was written there he followed to his end.'

‘A horoscope?' Giles groaned. ‘Dear God, the beadle Blair! I drew up his horoscope! But that was years ago. He came to see me when I first came to the town.'

‘And did you tell him that he should be bled?'

‘I may have done. As I seem to recall, he had the most unbalanced disposition, I have ever come across. There was undoubtedly a superfluity of blood. But Hew, I did not mean to say, whatever was the time, for any kind of ill, I should prescribe phlebotomy, as an essential cure.'

‘Whatever else you meant, he took you at your word. And never had forgotten it.'

‘Dear God. Then I am to blame, quite as much as Sam.'

‘Neither of you caused the candlemaker's death. And though it may be true the time was out of joint, the season was most pertinent, most poignantly, for him.'

‘Well,' reflected Giles. ‘I will write that we both did act in honest faith, and that Sam's actions, surely, did the man no harm, save that they sparked off a sad train of events, which could have taken place at any other time. And yet, I count it strange it came to him at Candlemas. There is a kind of fate we cannot understand, and are powerless to control. Still, this tragic tale could well have been averted, if the surgeons and physicians were on better terms, and more like to trust each other. I will write that too.'

‘I believe it true. Balance in all things,' said Hew. ‘Is not that the principle, on which your art is based?'

He returned to Kenly Green, with a light and steady heart, and with Johannes's candles safely in his hands. The house was strange and dark. ‘Where are you, my love?' he cried out to the hall. ‘I have brought a gift will light you to a smile.'

A servant came out from the kitchen, an elderly woman he had thought long retired. ‘Peace to you, sir, do not be alarmed.' Never had such words impressed on him more violently, the opposite effect.

‘Where is my wife?'

‘Mistress Meg is here, and the midwife too. All is in hand.'

‘What midwife here?'

‘The labour has begun.'

He stared at her. ‘It cannot have begun. It is far too soon. I must go to Frances.'

‘Whisht, will you sir, you cannot see her now. Leave them to their work. She is in good hands. Come to the kitchen. There is a fire, and a warming drink.'

‘I do not want your fire,' Hew protested peevishly, ‘I want to see my wife.' His house rebelled against him, thwarted and distorted his will at every turn. Gavan Baird appeared, with his crumpled coat and foolish ruffled hair, grinning from the library. ‘Come and sit with me. For there is a book I want to share with you. We need not interrupt the ladies at their work. They will be some while.'

Hew was consumed with a wild dislike of him. ‘Have you gone quite mad? I want to see my wife!'

‘Now is not the time.'

Hew pushed Gavan Baird, and his simpering, away, and leapt upon the stair. He had not reached the landing place upon the second floor when Robert Lachlan came, welcome as an ogre rising in a dream, a nightmarish attempt to keep him from his task. Lachlan, unlike Baird, would not be pushed aside, and he was quite prepared to match Hew blow for blow, if ever Hew were fool enough to attempt to fight. Finding his way blocked and further progress barred, Hew assailed him fiercely, ‘Is this friendship, Robert? To deny me the entrance to my own house?'

‘Dinna disport like a bairn. You don't want to go there, and the women do not want you. She is well provided for, with Meg and Bella too. Whit wad they want with you? Leave it to a lass.'

‘But what can I do, Robert? How can I help?'

‘I recommend strong liquor. It will make the time pass, wondrously. When Bella lay in with wee Billy, the whole thing went by in a flash.'

‘When Billy was born,' Hew corrected, ‘you were out cold for three days.'

‘What did I say to ye? Done in a flash. And a grand bonny babby is he.'

His sister Meg appeared, the calmest voice of reason in this frantic world, coming down the stair. ‘Keep your voice low, Hew. You make too much noise.'

‘What has happened, Meg? How does Frances do? Why have you left her?' he cried.

‘Did I not just tell you to keep down your voice? Frances is quite safe, for now, with Bella Frew. Her labour has begun. It cannot be of help to her to hear you rage and shout.'

‘But Meg, it is too soon.'

‘It is early, yes. But babies do not mark the days off on the calendar. They come when they will come. Trust her with us, Hew. I came out for a moment, to find one of your servants. For I think the time has come, to send a man for Giles.'

A panic came upon him, gripping at his bowel. Physicians were not called upon, never were they called upon, until there was a real and present threat of death. ‘Why would you do that?'

‘Why, then, should I not? He is my husband, and your dearest friend.' Meg's response was bright. But she could not conceal the shadow in her face.

Bewildered, he whispered, ‘It cannot be now. I have brought candles for her.'

 

 

 

 

 

Glossary

ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE HEW CULLAN SERIES

Hue & Cry

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‘A gripping and welcome addition to the growing genre of historical crime fiction'
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‘An elaborate, closely plotted tale that combines extensive research with high drama'
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1579, St. Andrews. A thirteen-year old boy meets his death on the streets of the university city of St. Andrews and suspicion falls upon one of the regents at the university, Nicholas Colp. Hew Cullan, a young lawyer recently returned home from Paris, uncovers a complex tale of passion and duplicity, of sexual desire and tension within the repressive atmosphere of the Protestant Kirk and the austerity of the academic cloister.

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1581: young St Andrews academic Hew Cullan is unhappy with his life and disillusioned with the law. After his father's death he is invited by the advocate Richard Cunningham to complete his legal education in Edinburgh as Richard's pupil at the bar. Among his father's things Hew finds a manuscript entitled ‘In Defence of the Law', directed to the Edinburgh printer, Christian Hall. At first, he resists its influence, but when a young girl is found dead on the beach at St Andrews, he is left unsettled and confused. He resolves to take the book to press and agrees to Richard's offer. Embarking on his new life in the capital, he falls in love. His relationships are fraught with lies and secrets and lead to brutal murder on the borough muir. Hew suspects a link with the dead girl on the beach. As he begins his desperate search to find the killer, he finds that the truth lies closer to home.

Time & Tide

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In the swell of a storm, a ship is wrecked in St Andrews harbour. A young Flemish sailor, the last man aboard, collapses and dies at the inn. The cargo of the ship appears a welcome windfall but soon brings devastation to the town as petty squabbling turns to rage and tragedy. Hew traces the ship to its source in Ghent, where he uncovers a strange secret. Unwilling to allow the law to take its course, he returns once more to the bitter role of advocate, to find his deepest principles are tested to the core.

Friend & Foe

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St Andrews. 1583, and tensions are running high. Dissension rages between King and councillors, and between the separate factions of the Kirk. At St Mary's college, the reformer Andrew Melville is unsettled by a series of unnatural events, while the ailing Archbishop Patrick Adamson plays out his darkest fantasies, in the safe seclusion of the castle vaults. Hew is called to investigate a mysterious incident and finds suspicion falling upon him as he is ensnared in a world of superstition, subterfuge and death. This new Hew Cullan story sees the academic lawyer once again in the company of his sister Meg and her husband, physician Giles Locke, in their most challenging case yet. Alliances are formed; there are old scores to be settled; old ghosts reappear and spies are abroad. The king's escape from captivity throws all in confusion, and as Hew's loves and loyalties are put to the test, his own life and future are no longer secure.

Queen & Country

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1587. After three long years, exiled from home and family, and drawn into the depths of the London underworld under the tutelage of Elizabeth's spymaster Francis Walsingham, Hew returns to Scotland with his new English wife Frances. The execution of Mary, Queen of Scots has unleashed a torrent of anti-English sentiment in the Scottish people and fear in King James VI, jeopardising Hew's now unlawful marriage. However, the king invites Hew to investigate the perplexing meaning of a death's head painting that has come into his possession. What does it symbolise, and is it a message from his dead mother? And are the local painters all that they appear? If Hew solves the mystery, his marriage to Frances will be blessed. The stakes have never been higher as he embarks on a quest for love and life.