Fate and Fortune (17 page)

‘Aye, that sounds like Phillip. Nonetheless, he may be right. Perhaps it was Walter who threw out the proofs?’

‘I do not think so, Hew. Also, there was ink spilled on the floor, where the day before there was no ink, I’m sure of it.’

‘Well … as you say, they are small things. And you are busy here. It is not hard for things to be misplaced. It is hard to say, how these things in themselves might constitute a mischief,’ Hew said reasonably.

‘But suppose that someone came here in the dark, to look for Catherine’s poems, and spilled the ink, not seeing it?’

Hew laughed. ‘Were there footprints in the ink?’

‘Do not mock me. I am serious.’

‘And seriously, I apprehend your fears. But I do think these are trivial matters. In a busy printer’s shop, there may be many accidents. I think it very likely Catherine took the proofs. It is the sort of thing that she would do. As for the ink, I expect Michael spilt it, and did not care to own up to it,’ Hew reassured her.

‘No, do not blame Michael. I will not have him become the common whipping boy. In my heart, I knew he did not bring the corbie. I ought not to have allowed the men to punish him.’

‘The shop is locked,’ Hew pointed out, ‘therefore it is hard to see how anyone could come here in the night. Who sleeps above? Walter and Phillip?’

Christian shook her head. ‘Walter has a wife; they live at Pocketclief. And Phillip rents a room across the street. Only Alison and William sleep upstairs with me. But I have asked Phillip to remain here to keep watch, for the next night or two. He does not seem to mind too much.’

‘Aye, for sure,’ muttered Hew. Christian frowned at him. ‘He is a good man, Hew. And though he has not said so, I think his lodging house is somewhat mean and low. He takes no one there, and on Sundays is reluctant to go home.’

‘He is paid well enough, for the setting of my book,’ Hew remarked.

Christian gave a drawn-out look, under which he grew a little hot. ‘The terms were fair. Phillip is saving to buy his own press.’

‘I suppose you still trust him?’ he wondered.

Christian said quietly, ‘Aye, with my life.’

Hew did not return to Christian’s shop for several days, for he was watching Richard in the courtroom. He amused himself in trying to predict who Richard would object to from the jury. In several cases, he was wrong; then he became more subtle and more accurate. Richard was a careful tutor, who shared his inner thoughts as frankly as his influence. As Hew began to learn, he found, to his confusion, that the law appealed to him. He wanted to ask questions and put arguments, to counter with objections on his own. Richard had to quell him with a look when he became too vocal in the court. In the morning, they shared breakfast on the wooden gallery, and discussed the case. Richard nurtured and encouraged Hew, allowing him expression of his thoughts, pointing out the flaws with amused and gentle patience, teasing out the subtleties. And Hew became drawn in to Richard’s inner world.

On the third day of the trial, as they left for court, they were met by Meg and Giles coming up the stair.

‘How sad you look, in black,’ his sister smiled. ‘It suits you, Hew. I never thought to see you look so serious.’

‘Hew is growing up,’ the doctor diagnosed. ‘That may be no bad thing.’

‘Do not confuse me with my coat,’ Hew countered. ‘When I am myself, I prefer the gooseturd green.’

Giles slipped his arm around Hew’s shoulder. ‘I am in conference this morning, with my good friend Doctor Dow, while Meg is come to spend the day with Eleanor,’ he murmured. ‘I thought that you and I could dine together, after our exertions. I have found a little place.’

‘Why don’t we all dine here?’ suggested Richard generously. ‘Doctor Dow would be most welcome.’

‘Doctor Dow is shy of company,’ Giles excused him quickly. ‘And I hoped to speak with Hew upon a private matter. Therefore, though I mark the kindness, I regret we must decline.’

Richard shrugged. ‘Another time.’

‘I do not quite believe in your good friend Doctor Dow,’ teased Hew. ‘Since I have never met him.’

‘Nor have I,’ Meg interjected pointedly. ‘For all there is, as I am told, a gudewife Doctor Dow, that accompanies him. In truth, I sometimes wonder whether they exist.’

‘But that is preposterous!’ Giles exclaimed. ‘Of course there is a mistress Doctor Dow! And no one who has met his wife could ever be in doubt of her existence.’

‘That is my point,’ Meg said archly, ‘that I have not met her.’

‘Aye well, another time,’ Giles muttered vaguely. ‘This morning we have business, very dull and bloody.’

‘Dull
and
bloody?’ Richard queried. ‘Surely, never both?’

‘In my profession, sad to say, almost always both. Doctor Dow has made a study of the grandgore. And this morning, he proposes that we make a new experiment, upon a patient he has staying in his house. The remedy is somewhat rigorous, alas.’

‘Poor man,’ Meg said compassionately. ‘Then I may bring some comfort to him.’

Giles looked helpless for a moment.

‘I think it may not suit you, Meg,’ her brother rescued hurriedly.

‘You are quite wrong,’ insisted Meg. ‘You know I am not squeamish when it comes to physic. You are the one of us faintest of heart.’

‘And as I recall,’ Giles countered cunningly, ‘
you
were the one that wanted me to have that private talk with Hew.’

‘Aye, very well,’ Meg gave in reluctantly. ‘You must tell me how it turns out.’ It was not clear to what they referred, and Hew felt a little unnerved.

‘I know a brave little brewster called Bessie, on Blackfriars wynd, who bakes a rare pie, and who is a little muddled about fish days,’ the doctor confided, ‘Meet me at the high school a little after twelve.’

The trial was done by noon, and Hew met Giles as arranged, at the dinner hour. He waited at the foot of Blackfriars wynd, where it met the Cowgate, close to the town school. There were no signs for taverner or cookshop, and he was surprised when Giles appeared and led him to a kitchen on the corner of the street.

In the centre of the kitchen stood a wooden barrel, laid out like a table with a cloth and set for two, with trenchers, cups and spoons, so close between the fireplace and the brewing vat that Hew could taste the liquor from the mash. The air was thick and heady with the smell of toasted malt. After a morning’s concentration in the court house, he began to feel a little sleepy.

‘Bessie is the brewster for the kirk, and since the session do not stint themselves, you may be assured that is a mark of quality,’ Giles explained. ‘Moreover, she sells herbs and spices, some of which, in truth, have been proscribed. Her physic brings some comfort to our patients on the Cowgate. And for a place to talk, there is none more close or private. We may be assured of her discretion.’

‘Is the business private, then?’ Hew asked, a little alarmed.

Giles coughed discreetly. ‘Rather, I may say, a little delicate. Now, are you hungry? Bessie has an oven here for drying out the grain, and has ventured into coffin crusts, by way of a sideline. The flavour of the malt imparts a curious savour to the pasties that is quite beyond compare.’

Bessie had arrived, with a frothing pitcher and a glistening slab of pastry on a plate.

Giles took out his pocket knife and wiped it on the table cloth. Hew’s stomach gave a lurch. He did not care to hazard what had soiled the blade.

‘Do your researches go well?’ he ventured.

‘Doctor Dow shows some success in remitting the excesses of disease,’ Giles answered cautiously.

‘In the hie town and the kirk they say that pox is rampant in the Canongate, and has its roots at Holyrood, in our royal court,’ Hew persisted.

‘There is truth in that.’ The doctor sliced a slab of pie, unwilling to be drawn.

‘Truly, I confess, I give it little credence. Such rumour is the bastard of a lax and free regime, the rise of Esme Stewart, and the threat of papacy, of all things French and foreign, driving fear and loathing through the town. This city is a closed, suspicious place, whose frank mistrust of foreigners is bordered at the netherbow. I counted it the hatred of lascivious excess.’

‘A moral apoplexy. There is truth in that,’ Giles smiled. ‘Nonetheless, be assured, there is grandgore in the Canongate. Though I concede that rumour overplays the threat. When I see poor wretches suffer, I am bound to take it seriously.’

‘And yet you say that Doctor Dow has some success in treating it.’

Giles took a sip of ale. ‘He has had success in moderating
symptoms
, with a herbal remedy procured from Bessie here. I remain unconvinced that the sickness has been stifled at its root. My fear is that the pox lies dormant, and will rear its head again, but after many years. Its legacy appears in babes unborn,’ he added gloomily.

‘A sad prognostication,’ Hew observed. ‘I heard tell of prisoners who had lost their noses. Would it be the grandgore?’ he wondered.

‘More than likely.’

‘I have heard it said that the late King Henry Darnley had the
grandgore
, not the smallpox, when he came to lie at Kirk o’ Fields.’

‘I have heard the same,’ admitted Giles.

‘Our present young king is weak-limbed and bowed.’

Giles grinned. ‘Now you are the one who makes rumour,’ he pointed out. ‘So scandals spread more quickly than the plague. Though he may be indifferently formed, his defects are not typical of pox. I think it is some other ill afflicts our present king.’

Hew fell silent, staring in his cup. Presently he said, ‘You speak of sickness passing through the generations. Meg has the epilepsie.’

‘Aye, what of it?’ Giles said calmly.

‘My cousin Robin Flett, his sister died of falling sickness.’

‘He was your mother’s cousin, as I understand.’

‘Then if Meg had a child, the child might have it too?’

Giles sat thoughtful for a moment. Then he answered quietly. ‘It is a possibility. I do not count the risk. It does not pass directly to the child.’

‘And if
I
had a child?’

‘It is a possibility.’

‘And this does not … deter you, I suppose?’ questioned Hew.

‘It is as I say. I do not count the risk.’

‘My mother died in childbirth,’ Hew reflected.

‘That, too, I have noted. And since the risk to Meg outweighs the danger to the child, I cannot give it countenance.’

‘What is it you are saying? That she cannot have a child?’

‘That I do not wish to speak of it,’ Giles replied emphatically. ‘Come, this is not why we are here. I am charged to speak with you, on a matter of some delicacy.’

‘Aye, so you said. What can be so delicate, you do not wish to speak of it?’

The doctor sighed. ‘It is your sister wanted me to mention this to you,’ he explained at last. ‘She thinks you are not kind to Christian. There, the thing is said. Though I count it little of my business, I come merely as Meg’s messenger. She thinks also … that you are too
reckless
in your friendship with Catherine Douglas, who is wanton and not to be trusted. According to Meg.’

After this awkward speech, he cleared his throat, and stared
uncomfortably
into his cup.

Hew was still for a moment. Then he said quietly, ‘Meg is quite wrong on both counts.’

Giles looked up. ‘Dearly, I should like to tell her so. Though I confess that what I have seen looks rather to confirm it. It is plain to us all that there is a bond between you and Christian, and yet, to her face, you are flirting with Catherine, to whom I sense you have no real attachment, and that causes Christian hurt.’

‘As I say, you are wrong on both counts,’ Hew repeated. ‘I do not deny there is a strong connection between myself and Christian, and it is no surprise that Christian has sensed it. No doubt, Meg feels it too, though she cannot know why. Christian is our father’s child. Therefore, my regard for her may not be more than that.’

Giles exclaimed, ‘But surely, that cannot be true!’

‘I only wish that it were not,’ Hew answered sadly. He told what he had learned from Urquhart. ‘If you can find some other
explanation
,’ he concluded, ‘then I should be more than glad to hear it.’

Giles shook his head. ‘Though I did not know Matthew long, I would not have expected this of him. And he kept it secret all that time?’

‘Aye, and from Christian herself. I have not felt able to tell her. In my father’s defence, he made provision for her. He has watched over her for all these years.’

‘Then when he sent you with the manuscript …’

Hew nodded. ‘He must have meant me to find out. And finding her in trouble, I determined to protect her. For she is my sister, nothing less, and nothing more.’

‘You must not tell Meg. For Matthew was the world to her. This would break her heart,’ Giles declared decisively.

‘I know it. Nor would she believe it. But she and Christian met when they were bairns. He took Meg to the house at Calton crags. Aye, he was that open, Giles. He let them play together.’

‘Dear, dear, then I am sorry for it. This is hard on Christian,’ Giles reflected. ‘It is plain she likes you, Hew.’

‘And I like her. But it cannot be helped.’

Giles shook his head. ‘It is a muddle and a mess. Where does Catherine come in this? She is your consolation, I suppose, a mere distraction?’

‘Not at all,’ Hew replied seriously. ‘To say so were to underrate her charms, and insult her. Catherine’s flippancy and wit are a pretence, that masks a hurt and tender soul, and I am quite honest in my regard for her. I like her very much.’

Giles pursed his lips. ‘You do not count her a risk?’

‘If she is a risk, then I am prepared to take it. All my life, I have been treated as a child, cosseted and guided, given good advice. Now, even now, though I am of age, and come into my inheritance, I am once again a pupil in someone else’s house. I am tired of it, Giles. Trust me, for once, to know my own mind,’ Hew insisted.

‘Then I suppose there can be little point in warning you against her,’ Giles agreed at last. ‘Aye, go where you will. I wish you happiness. In any case, I shall not interfere.’

* * *

Hew returned to Christian’s shop, hoping to see Catherine once again. The talk with Giles had strengthened his resolve: he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to prolong the friendship, knowing there was nothing in the way. Coming to the printing house, he was aghast at what he found. At first he thought of William, run amok, and yet he knew the damage went beyond what could have been inflicted by a child: he met a scene of devastation. Walter’s press had been wrenched off from its brace, and a bare hole marked the floor where it had stood. The paper in the windows had been stripped and torn, and all the locks were broken, while the door swung open on its hinges to the gawping street. Phillip knelt with Christian in the middle of the shop, picking over fragments in the dust. ‘All of this, ruined,’ he said starkly.

‘What has happened here?’ Hew cried.

Christian answered calmly. ‘We have had a visit from the burgh council.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘They closed us down.’ She waved her hand towards the door, to which was pinned a paper: ‘Closed, by order of the
magistrates
.’

Phillip stood up. ‘The council have impounded all the letter and press – save what they have scattered on the floor.’

‘Is is broken?’ Christian asked him softly.

‘Most of this is chipped. But it is not ours. It was left by the printer who was here before us, and is very old and worn. Look, these are musical notes, of which we have none of our own.’

‘He left nothing, I suppose, to do us harm?’

‘Only worn out letter. I will wrap it up, and return it to the store. It was copy they were looking for, and they have taken all our formes and manuscripts and all the wrought-off sheets.

‘They took your father’s book. I’m sorry, Hew,’ said Christian sadly.

‘Catherine’s poems?’ he questioned, with a flooding dread.

Christian shook her head. ‘All of them were sent to her, the copy too. And Phillip has distributed the type. We left no trace.’

‘Thank God for that!’ To his shame, Hew felt regret; for if Catherine’s poems were printed she would not come again.