Fate and Fortune (28 page)

‘I did not lie with her,’ Hew answered shortly.

Richard looked amused. ‘Then you showed more restraint than I supposed.

‘What I did not anticipate, foolishly, was that the burgh council would impound your father’s book. No one was more relieved than I to see it safely back in Christian’s hands. And yet I was no further forward, for I did not have the manuscript. And I could not have it, for the book was charmed.’

‘This is madness, Richard, nursery tales! The burden of your guilt has turned your wits!’

‘Is it, though? It came through flood, and God knows what; when all else was destroyed, it remained unharmed. What else could it mean, but that Matthew had bewitched it? Then I became obsessed with Christian Hall. I would her destroy her absolutely, wipe her out, as I had done her father, and remove all trace of proof. I would make a forgery that she could not deny. It took some time to persuade Alison to steal the block and type. She had disobeyed her mistress and she feared the bairn would tell; I bribed the bairn with fruit. I had not brought back the papers I had promised; I persuaded her that they were waste, the block and letter too, would not be missed. She was afraid that she would lose her place; I promised her a better one. And, you will allow, I sent her to a better one,’ he pleaded, chillingly. ‘I knew I had to kill her, even then. For even little Alison, foolish as she was, would not have held her tongue when Christian came to trial. So I arranged to meet her for the last time on the moor. I brought a banquet in a napkin, sweetmeats for the child. And, while William played, I offered to make love to her.’

‘Then it was not a rape,’ muttered Hew.

‘It was not a rape,’ Richard agreed. ‘Later, it made sense to let you think it was, to tie the crime to Marten Voet, and the murder in St Andrews. Though you cannot think,’ he gave a shudder of disgust, ‘I wanted her. Whatever you will think of me, I pray, do not think that.’

Hew fell silent, sickened. Then he said at last, ‘Did you have your horse with you?’

‘Aye, as it happens. He was tethered to a tree stump on the moor.’

‘Then William’s fear is not of horses,’ Hew concluded thoughtfully. ‘He was afraid, but of a particular horse.’

‘Is that so?’ Richard laughed. ‘I once saw a horse hanged, for murder of its master when it trampled him to death. But I do not think my poor red roan will stand up in the witness box. No matter. You must know what happened next. I teased and chased her through the wood; we fetched up by the gibbet, where I led her back into the trees. It is a lonely spot, where no one likes to linger long. And it began to rain. Alison was laughing, wild and soaked, upon our bed of leaves. I tried to cut her throat, but my hands were shaking, and I could not cut deep enough. I tried to smother her; my hands were thick with blood,’ he shuddered in distaste, ‘and still she would not die; she struggled, even screamed – how could she go on screaming, when her throat was cut? Then you must see, how
difficult
it was. And though I cut and cut at her I could not stop her crying, close her eyes and silence her. And when at last she stilled, I could not stop, until I fell exhausted in her arms and both of us were spent, soaked in rain and blood. And then … when I came to again, I saw the little child. I had quite forgotten him. And he was peeping from the trees, where he had run to shelter from the rain, quite still and blank with horror. I reached out towards him – I swear it was to comfort him – but he fled back through the wood. And though it was the simplest thing to follow him, a
weariness
took over me. I let him go. I trusted that the storm would seal his fate. I had clean clothes in my bags, for I had thought of that. Beneath my coat and bonnet, I had worn your boatman’s rags. I buried them in mud and rode back through the rain. The block was in my pocket, and I felt a curious calm.’

Richard stood up and stretched. ‘It is a relief to confess,’ he admitted, ‘like one of Giles Locke’s laxatives. I feel lightened and refreshed. Shall we play again?’

‘And if we do, what happens next?’ asked Hew.

‘Allow me one last game,’ Richard answered quietly, ‘after which, I shall concede that I have lost.’

Richard played erratically and closely to the net. To Hew’s
astonishment
, he left the court behind him undefended, losing three points in succession to Hew’s serve. The fourth serve he returned and embarked upon a rest, returning to the net where best he could. Hew did not understand this strategy. Richard seemed resolved to throw away the game. And though he saw him coming to the rope, he was ill-prepared for Richard’s final stroke. Richard caught his volley at the net and played the shot backhand. Masking the direction, he took up the ball in flight and rammed it home. Instead of glancing off the side wall, as Hew had expected, it struck him full force in the face. As the court turned to blackness he felt himself crumple, parting his lips to mouth his surprise, and heard the clatter of his racket on the ground.

‘I thought you were dead,’ Richard observed; almost, Hew thought, with a hint of reproach. The walls of the court seemed to spin and close in, and Hew was hit with motion sickness in a sudden wave.

‘Pray, do not try to move. Let’s see what we can do to help you.’

Richard knelt by his side. He had taken off his coat, and rolled it into a pillow, slipping it under Hew’s head.

‘Lie still for a moment,’ he urged.

Dizziness spilled over to confusion. Hew could no longer see. A red haze had covered his eyes. He lifted his hand to the side of his head and heard himself murmur, ‘A surgeon.’

‘Aye, in a while,’ agreed Richard. ‘Dead ball. The score is now forty:fifteen. Though I’m afraid, the game is done.’

Hew fought for consciousness. He struggled to regain his sight, and failed, the red haze returning to black as he felt his eyes close. But he could hear, still, Richard’s quiet voice, and another noise outside. He forced his mouth open, framing a cry, but the sound did not come.

‘Do you hear that? There are people outside in the street,’ Richard noticed. ‘Shall we call to them, and tell them of your accident? The pity is, you did not die. Well then, let us both be quiet; they will soon be gone.’

He began to move, softly, back to the net.

‘You know,’ he said a moment later, ‘this was not what I had planned. And it will be harder to account for. But nonetheless … Have you noticed that the slabs that pave the caichpule have a pinkish tinge? The floor is washed with oxblood. Perhaps you wonder why? It gives colour, so the greyness of the balls shows up, and provides a hardness that improves the drop. And for this purpose, bulls are sometimes brought alive and slaughtered in the tennis court, on their way to the fleshmarkets. Nothing so strange, then, to mark it with blood, for this place where we play has been a slaughterhouse. I think you did not know that – not so many people do – but you may think it fitting after all, to lend a little colour to the chase.’ And reflecting in this way, he drew his knife and drove it deep and deftly into Hew, pulling back to watch his lifeblood spilling to the floor.

Hew groaned, with surprising conviction. A dull and thudding
thickness
filled his head. He felt his temple throbbing, bulging like a tennis ball. He was lying on a mattress in the house of Doctor Dow. The place had a whiff of the consulting room, with rows of white bottles, specimens and jars. Someone pressed a bandage to his chest. A sticky trickle marked the edges of the hurt; as the rag was tightened it began to sting. Hew moaned again, experimentally, and struggled to sit up.

‘Be still a moment. You have taken quite a blow,’ Giles advised him cheerfully. He tied the bandage neatly. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Terrified. There are two of you.’ Two anatomists loomed over him, poised for their dissections.

Giles chuckled, ‘Peace, you are not seeing double. This is my good friend, Doctor Dow.’

‘Then I am pleased to meet him,’ Hew said feelingly, ‘and I should be more pleased, to see his wife. Her stitching held; the jerkin saved my life.’

‘She is an expert sempstar. She made good your wounds, neat as any surgeon, saving us considerable expense,’ Giles acknowledged. ‘There is nothing like a woman’s touch. The jacket though,’ he nodded to Hew’s jerkin, darkly stained with blood, ‘was inspired. What made you think of lining it?’

‘Dun Scottis, when he kicked me in the estuary,’ Hew admitted ruefully. ‘Though his force was tempered by the flow of water, still I caught his glance, and the padding in my britches saved me from grave hurt. The pity is, I did not line my hat.’

‘Aye, we had not reckoned Richard to be quite so good at caich,’ conceded Giles. ‘It was madness, Hew, to face the man alone, knowing he had killed in such a frenzy.’

‘Hence the precautions,’ argued Hew. A sudden wave of giddiness subsumed him. He closed his eyes. ‘What has become of Richard, Giles?’ he whispered.

‘Peace,’ the doctor soothed him, ‘he was taken into ward. They caught him in the act, with his knife in hand. Howsoever he may twist, he cannot turn from that.’

‘How did you find us?’ murmured Hew, who no longer had a proper grip on things. He wanted to be sick.

‘No thanks to Paul, who proved quite useless as a spy,’ tutted Giles.

‘To be fair,’ Hew acknowledged, ‘I dismissed him.’

‘Then you are a madman and a fool, and you deserve a flaying,’ Giles said sternly, ‘never mind these cuts.’

‘I know now why I do not choose you for my doctor,’ Hew said wryly. ‘Your bedside manner lacks finesse.’

‘I’m serious, Hew. Had you been killed, you would not have been the one explaining it to Meg. I knew that it was madness to send Paul. I should have gone myself.’

‘But you, Giles, lack the subtlety that this sort of subterfuge requires. In any case, how
did
you find us?’

‘It was Phillip,’ Giles admitted, unexpectedly. ‘It turns out he has lodgings underneath the tennis court. A dark and incommodious set of rooms. Apparently, he has them for a pittance. Though they serve ill for him, they turned out well for you. He saw you come into the court with Richard Cunningham, and raised a hue and cry that you were playing tennis on the Sabbath, forcing Fletcher into giving up the key. They found a little more than they expected; Fletcher called the watch. As to Phillip, he was not best pleased he saved your life. He does not seem to like you very much.’

‘Poor Phillip. I have treated him badly. Yet he almost spoiled the plan,’ reflected Hew.

‘He was its saving grace,’ Giles contradicted. ‘I confess, when I saw you, I felt my heart stop. We thought you were dead, Hew.’

‘I thank you for your rescue,’ Hew said awkwardly. ‘And for all your care.’

‘You are most welcome to it. Though you once swore you would not be my patient, while you lived.’

‘Did I say that? Then I repent it, freely. Have you finished with the bandaging? I must go to Richard.’

Giles shook his head. ‘Do not even think of making his defence. You will have to stand against him, as witness for the Crown.’

Hew lay back again and closed his eyes. ‘What will I say to Eleanor and Roger, Giles? What will I say to Grace?’ he whispered desperately. ‘It was bad enough that I broke Arabella.’

The doctor took his hand. ‘That was not your doing,’ he said kindly. ‘Nor was this.’

When Hew felt well enough to ride, he hired a horse and left the city, turning west. The path was smooth and dry, and before the sun rose high he made his crossing to North Queensferrie, arriving at the boatman’s cottage shortly before noon. There among the flotsam, he found Christian, Meg and William, sharing bread and milk. And leaving Meg with Jonet and the child he took Christian to the shore, where as they walked he told his story, carefully and tenderly. Christian did not weep, but gazed at him, asking, ‘Then William is safe? We are all of us, safe?’

‘Aye, it is over,’ he assured her. ‘You are both quite safe.’

‘Will there be a trial?’

‘Richard will confess to killing Alison. He knows, if he does not, that I will press the charge of treason. Then the king will have his say, and he will suffer more. As it is, he will hang. And though here is no hope for him, his family will be spared from disgrace.’

‘Is it no disgrace, that he killed a girl?’

‘
That
they will recover from. It is the lesser charge,’ Hew sighed. ‘Though it should not be. Yet, it is enough.’

‘You sound as though you pity him,’ Christian observed.

‘He was mad, I think. Made mad by the guilt of his first crime. And that, the greater treason, was the one crime I can almost understand, though it is the worse one in the law. The deception of the desperate boy, I almost could excuse, but not what followed it. His conscience drove him deeper into sin. If he had confided in me, then I have no doubt, I should have kept his secret for him. Alison should not have had to die,’ Hew concluded sadly.

‘But that,’ Christian said wisely, ‘was not for you to say. He brought it all upon himself.’

‘Aye, he did. I am afraid that it may take a little while,’ reflected Hew, ‘to clear your father’s name.’

‘It is a name I never heard before today.’ Christian looked out across the estuary, where seabirds flocked upon Inchgarvie, and the ferry boat rolled on into the distance, to the southern shore. Hew broke in to her sadness, taking both her hands in his to ask impulsively, ‘Will you stay with me, always? Marry me?’

She pulled away her hands. ‘I cannot,’ she said simply.

‘I could not ever speak of my regard for you,’ Hew persisted, ‘when I thought it wrong. Then let me speak it now!’

Christian shook her head. ‘It is too late. You went with
her
.’

‘With Catherine? I swear to you, that Catherine—’

‘Ah, do not say that she meant nothing to you. Do not say that,’ she pleaded.

‘I cannot, for it is not true. But Catherine knew, far better than myself, where my true heart lay. Our love was never consummated,’ Hew said bleakly, ‘because of you.’

‘It does not
matter
, Hew.’

‘Can you not forgive me?’

‘I am betrothed to Phillip,’ she explained. ‘For after our release from gaol, I felt so very tired of being alone. Phillip knows the press, and has always been my friend. He will take on William as his own. I do not think that you would care to be a printer, Hew, and have a little child; and yet that is my life. It may be hard, at times, but it is all I know.’

Hew shook his head. ‘It is really what you want?’

She was silent, for a long time thoughtful, before she answered, ‘Aye.’

‘Then I wish you happiness,’ he told her quietly.

‘We shall make a fresh start,’ she gave a wan smile. ‘Phillip thought perhaps that we might go to London. And the press must have a new name. The corbie has brought us nothing but bad luck.’

‘It was your father’s name,’ Hew reminded her.

‘Aye, poor man. It is time that he was laid to rest. We shall have a ram’s head, after Phillip Ramsay.’

‘Was that his idea?’ demanded Hew.

‘No, he would not hear of it,’ Christian demurred. ‘Yet I shall insist upon it. The idea was mine.’

‘Well, it’s a good one,’ Hew allowed. ‘And for the first work of the Ram’s Head Press, I know the very thing. My friend Nicholas Colp is at this moment finishing his book on Ramus. I will have it sent to you.’

‘Ramus?’ Christian echoed doubtfully. ‘Is that likely to prove popular?’

‘Incalculably. And, especially now. For I have heard it rumoured Edinburgh is soon to have a university. Though it can never hope to be the equal of St Andrews, this bastard institute is sure to want a printer. The Ramus will declare good faith, and ensure you are
considered
for the place.’

‘I’m not sure that is quite what we were looking for,’ said Christian, unconvinced. ‘Your father’s book is worthy, and we shall finish printing as contracted, yet we do not live in hope of selling many copies. In truth, it is a little dull. Phillip thought that we should start to look to profit: Psalters and cheap prayer books, and the people’s favourite sermons – leaving out the ones by Walter Balcanquall. Then ballad sheets and picture books, and tales of travels overseas …’

‘And monstrous babies with two heads,’ Hew put in humorously.

‘Aye, precisely,’ Christian nodded. ‘That’s the sort of thing. Do you know of any?’

‘I confess, I have no friends who write that sort of book.’

‘A pity. If you hear of one, be sure to let me know.’

She turned towards the water. ‘I should like to walk alone here, for a while. Would you mind too much?’

Hew hesitated, as though about to speak, then changed his mind, and made his way slowly back to the house.

‘If you had told me at the start,’ Meg accused, ‘I could have told you at the start, how ridiculous it was. Christian could not have been our sister. For our father was not that sort of man.’

‘I know well enough, you would have said so, for you could not bear to think ill of him. Therefore, your saying so would never have convinced me, and my saying so to you, could only cause you hurt,’ reasoned Hew.

‘Which only goes to prove that you are wrong, and I am right,’ argued Meg. ‘William, do not touch that knife. It’s used for gutting fish. It’s very sharp. How could you have thought it, Hew?’

‘Giles believed it too,’ Hew said, a touch defensively.

‘And he is more foolish than you,’ Meg said fondly. ‘Why, do you know, he thought that … Ah, never mind. It is so very curious, how men and women do not talk. Did you know that Jonet and her man had not discussed the drowning of their son for twenty years? What madness, Hew! Christian and I soon sorted that.’

Hew laughed. ‘God love you both! I am thankful, after all, that she is not my sister. One of you is quite enough.’

Meg took his hand. ‘I was wrong about Marten,’ she admitted. ‘And I thought you were too trusting. I am sorry for it, Hew.’

‘In truth, I doubted it myself. Or rather, I did not want the
alternative
. It was Richard who tied Marten to the crime. About the things that mattered, Marten told the truth. Marten was at Antwerp when the Spanish came. There were horrors in his face that cannot lie.’

‘Then he did not kill the fisher lass?’

Hew shook his head. ‘Giles broke the link between the crimes. Once again, it was Richard that proposed it. There was nothing to tie Marten to the killing of the fisher lass, save he was at the senzie fair, and was a likely scapegoat. Richard played a dangerous game: he was also in Fife when Jess Reekie died.’

‘You do not mean that Richard killed that girl?’ Meg exclaimed.

‘Peace, rest assured, the murders are quite separate. I think that justice for poor Jessie lies among the fishermen, in Largo Bay, God rest her soul.’

‘Then what is Marten’s part in this?’

‘He has no part; that is his part. But Marten is a foreigner, and so a natural suspect. He came passing through, for that is what he does. He came here in search of fortune. Edinburgh, as we know, is a cold, inhospitable place that does not take kindly to strangers. Marten found scant comfort, and moved on. But then, by chance, he found William on the muir, and playing into Richard’s hands, brought on Richard’s destruction. In implicating Marten, Richard gave himself away, for he told us over much about his crime. Besides, you know my ways,’ Hew smiled. ‘I never care to follow where I’m led.’

‘Then Marten, almost, became Richard’s fate? Like the coloured cards he sells?’ suggested Meg.

Hew snorted. ‘
That
is fanciful. I will allow, though, Marten Voet is something of a mystery.’

‘What happens to him now?’

‘I left him on the road to London, selling cards and tales. It is a desperate life. And yet, I almost envy him.’ Hew answered thoughtfully.

‘Envy him? Are you mad! Suspected and shunned wherever he goes!’

‘You are right, of course,’ conceded Hew. ‘It is a fickle madness. Sometimes, though, I think, to be without the boundaries would be grand.’

‘You are a fool, Hew,’ Meg answered fondly. ‘You ought to settle down. Christian loves you, and you let her go.’

‘It is for the best. Phillip loves her. And I do not want to run a press.’

Hew leant forward and removed the knife from William, who let out a howl. ‘And I am not prepared to be a father yet. I barely know myself, let alone a child. Christian will be happier with Phillip. She liked Phillip first, and will like him better when I’ve gone.’

‘And what about you?’ Meg asked perceptively.

Hew stood up and went to the door. ‘I can hear Minnie coming back from her walk,’ he said to William. ‘And she has been walking right next to the sea; her cheeks are all wet with the spray. ‘He swung the little boy up in his arms. ‘Call to her! Tell her, it’s time to go home.’

* * *

Since Richard had been caught red-hand, he was convicted of
malicious
wounding, without the need for trial. At the same time, he confessed to the murder of Alison. He was sentenced to be hanged, at the market cross. And the day before this sentence was to be carried out, Hew returned to Richard’s land to speak with Eleanor. He met Roger on the turnpike stair, who stared at him with hatred, pushing grim and silent past him to the street. At the entrance to the close he turned and spat. ‘You are a traitor. And I hope that when they hang you, they will cut your heart out and throw it to the dogs.’