Hue and Cry (23 page)

The horse survived a little lame, and had not succumbed to madness. A horse was not a man. But horses were highly strung creatures, sensitive to memory and ghosts. They had a sense, for certain, of the evil in a place. That the horse remained sane was a positive sign. He looked at Nicholas, who might never become whole again. Frustration gave place to pity. ‘Ah,’ he said quietly, ‘what could you tell us of death, when even that one comfort, at the last, has been denied to you? Drink a little more.’

He kept the patient alive by touching and talking, insistent he should not relapse into that dark unconsciousness. For his physical recovery, these hours were critical. Giles had seldom seen a patient in so weak a state from lack of food and water. It was like a wasting sickness, where the body gave in gladly at the last and
closed itself to sleep. And Nicholas was frail. The muscles in his legs were growing weak and withered. It would be many days, if not weeks, before the man would be able to stand. He might be crippled then. He might be mad. And mad as he was, they might carry him too broken to resist towards his final fate. Could God be so cruel as to insist upon the last, most vengeful manner of his death? He suspected it. Nonetheless, he talked to the patient with a bright and cheerful urgency, forcing him awake. At times he saw the spark of understanding in the eyes, as the buzz of his converse was shaped into words. And then he saw the painful stricture of the neck, the tremor of his lips, and heard him cry. It came dry and sorrowful, scarcely a sound, a pitiful rasp from the back of the throat.

The term began in three days’ time, and until then, Hew counted himself free to go where he would in the town. No one raised objection to his going. On one of several visits to inquire about his friend, he discovered the physician was prepared at last to countenance a little gentle questioning. Nicholas, Giles warned, must try to speak gradually, holding the jaw still for fear of further dislocations, and avoiding sudden movements, that would push it out of joint. With this advice, he tactfully withdrew. He regretted the absence of Meg. The constant supervision of the patient had begun to tell on him, and in term would prove impossible. God willing, she would come and come alone. He had devised a system of manoeuvres for the limbs, to stimulate the worn and wasted parts, which he was hoping Meg might implement, and which he sensed her brother might impede.

Hew sat by the bedside, talking quietly. He touched upon their boyhood years. He retold his recent travels and adventures overseas. Once or twice, he almost raised a smile.

‘And now I have taken your place, until you are recovered, and walk the self-same halls where once we played as boys. Again, I will sleep in your blankets and read from your books. I’m sharing with your friend Robert Black.’

Nicholas stirred a little. ‘Has the term begun?’

‘Not yet. It starts on Thursday. Nicholas,’ Hew went on seriously, ‘Robert found some papers in your room. Do you know what they were?’

He did not blanch but answered simply, ‘Yes.’

‘He took the papers to the coroner. After you were taken from the dyer’s house. He thought you were dead.’

There was a long pause, during which Nicholas stared straight ahead. At last he gave a small sigh, which Hew could not read. Resignation, perhaps? He thought almost relief. ‘He did right,’ Nicholas said quietly.

Hew swallowed. ‘You know that these papers, in the light of the boy’s death, incriminate you?’

‘I understand.’

‘Did you kill him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you kill the dyer?’

There was a catch to the quietness, almost a sob.

Hew said, ‘Why did you go to his house?’

‘To plead for Tom. He thought the dyer would denounce him in the kirk, for his relationship with Katrin. So I went to talk to him. He was not there.’

‘You did not, I suppose, see someone else there? Katrin?’

‘Katrin? Why? What would she be doing there? I saw her at the drover’s house.’

‘Then did you see a man there, wearing green?’

‘I have no recollection. I am told that I was found there. I do not remember it.’

Hew changed his track. ‘But you remember how we found the boy? How did you know where to look?’

Giles had returned to the room with a basin of water. He set down the bowl quietly and waited by the door. Nicholas half closed his eyes and whispered. ‘I did not know. But we were searching for some cloth. He was limp inside the cloth. I saw the blue wool trapped inside the closet, and I thought
it was the cloth. He fell into my arms. You saw him. He was dead.’

‘Were you aware that Alexander sometimes slept in the shop?’

‘It was never mentioned.’

‘Under the counter, according to Tom. You visited the dyer to make a case for Tom.’ He returned to the same questions, hoping to discover truths in his confusion. ‘Tom was not the murderer. How did you know?’

Nicholas appeared surprised. ‘In truth, I did not know it. In my heart, I felt it, when I spoke to him.’

‘A poor enough defence. Who killed him, then?’ continued Hew.

‘I suppose it was his uncle, in a fit of temper. I cannot think that he intended it.’

‘No,’ Hew accepted. ‘Suppose he came into the shop that night, perhaps to make some final preparations for the market, and found Alexander there, asleep below the counter. They had words, and then the uncle struck and killed him, with the shuttle of the loom. But where was Tom? His master thought him fast asleep inside the closet bed. If he had killed his nephew, the bed was the last place he would hide the body.’

‘Tom was with his lass.’

‘Tom swears that Strachan did not know that. It will be hard to prove. Did he wear a green cloak?’

‘No. Perhaps. I do not know. Alexander wore a green cloak,’ Nicholas said dreamily.

Giles begin to frown upon them both as Hew persisted. ‘A moment more, one question still. When was the last time you saw Alexander?’

‘The
last
time,’ his friend replied simply.

‘Yes, as you say. But the last time you saw him alive?’

‘I saw him at his lesson the day before he died. I looked over his work. He was not well prepared.’

‘Did you reprimand him?’

‘No, in truth not. Or not then.’

‘But that was the last time you saw him?’

Nicholas sighed. ‘His uncle spoke with me before I left. He was his brother’s instrument, a brutal and unhappy one. I told him his expectations could not be met, and we parted on less than good terms. I had set Alexander his task and left him to finish it. However he appeared at college after dark, and begged to speak with me. I was sharp with him, and told him to go home. But there was something in his look that made me call him back. I thought perhaps that he had deeper troubles than I’d realised, or perhaps it was his uncle. The man is loathsome. And so I agreed to walk to the shore, intending to offer him counsel. Whereupon he came very meekly, thanked me for my time, and did not speak again until we reached the sands. I recall, the night was clear. We walked for a while, and I spoke to him about the university. I said I would explain to his father that I thought him too young, which was no fault of his, and that he might attend the grammar school a term or two and then matriculate next year. And as I was explaining this, I glanced at his face and realised that he had not heard a word of it, but he was staring out to sea, his cheeks aflame. I was vexed, and thought to remonstrate, when suddenly he burst out with a wild impassioned crying. He said that he loved me, all his thoughts and hopes and prayers were placed in me, that the thought of me coloured his studies, his daylight, his dreams, that I was by turns both gentle and cold to him,
cruel
, he suggested. He could no longer bear it; I toyed with his heart.’

Hew felt a growing uneasiness. ‘Had you not known?’

Nicholas had given it thought. He said carefully. ‘I don’t think I had known, not then. But looking back, the signs were there.’

‘And so you were forced to repel him.’ He was leading his witness, he knew. He wanted to discount the alternative quickly. ‘You cast him aside from you, sent him away.’

There was a long pause before Nicholas answered. ‘I sent him home, yes. I dealt with him gently. I told him I was moved by his affections, I cared for him, and wanted what was right for him. That it was not proper that he should express himself in this way
to me, but I could see his loneliness, and excused him. I said that we would speak of it again, in calmer tones, he should not be distressed. And because . . .’ his voice had dropped low, ‘he was so very desolate. I sought to comfort him. I saw it had begun to rain, darkening the sand. The drops on his hair were like dew. And I kissed him lightly on the hair. I kissed him on the head, and told him not to fret, and sent him home. And when I next saw him, the place I had kissed was splintered and cracked, and all of his dampened bright hair was made heavy with blood.’

He closed his eyes. Giles took Hew by the arm. ‘Enough. He’s exhausted.’ For a moment more, he fussed around the bed and made his patient comfortable. Nicholas appeared to be asleep. ‘Come into the other room,’ Giles said. ‘We’re finished here.’

At first they did not speak of it. Giles asked politely, ‘How do you find your room in the college? You’re settled, I hope?’

‘It feels strange to be back there,’ said Hew. ‘The place has changed. And for the worse, I think. Shall I see you at the examinations on Thursday?’

‘That is a pertinent question. I had this morning a most cordial communication from your principal, who has assured me that my presence, contrary to statute, is not required on that occasion. It is, he writes, a mere formality, which need not prey upon my conscience or my time, preoccupied as I must be with preparation for the term. Now is that not considerate?’

‘Uncommonly.’

‘As I thought. Therefore rest assured that you will see me there. It shows promise of diversion.’

‘I fear it. Giles, do you think that Nicholas will live? Ah, do not answer that!’

‘Did you imagine I might?’ Giles asked, amused. Then he was serious. ‘Not many men survive the lockjaw. The wrack of limbs and lungs is not so easily recovered. The truth is, I believe that he will live a year or five or ten, but that he will not be restored to what he was. His breaths are painful and spittled with blood. His legs are weak; he cannot stand. And what is worse, his
will has been broken. Well then, that’s enough. I have been wondering, Hew, about the finding of the corpse. I heard Nicholas say in there that he was limp inside the cloth. He spoke it quite distinctly.’

‘Aye, it’s true. He was.’

‘Because if the corpse was limp you know, it could not have been dead above a few hours. On a warm day, and wrapped in a blanket, in a warm place and dry, perhaps five or six hours at the outset. If the corpse was not yet stiffened, Alexander must have died that day.’

‘We found him in the evening, after kirk.’

‘He died then in the afternoon, no sooner.’

‘Then it could not have been Strachan or Tom,’ exclaimed Hew. ‘They were in Crail the whole of that day. They declared him missing at the moment they returned. It could have been Agnes, his aunt, for she held the keys to the shop. And Tom has sworn they found the place unlocked when they returned. But still,’ he cursed, ‘this does not help. It could still be Nicholas. Robert Black declared him missing in the afternoon.’

‘Could it be Robert Black?’ suggested Giles unhelpfully.

‘Aye, and the porter, the baxter, the principal too. Don’t muddy the waters. But where was Nicholas? Has he offered, by the by, a proper explanation for the wound in his thigh?’

‘I have an idea about that,’ Giles answered thoughtfully. ‘I doubt he will confide it.’

‘I will put it to him that he must. For tis most poignant.’

‘I suspect he counts it poignant to himself and to his God. If I can gain his confidence, perhaps he will divulge it. For the present, he resents me deeply for my forced attentions to his person.’

‘You think he made the cut himself?’ Hew inquired astutely.

‘It’s possible. I will say only this: there are other, older marks upon his body.’

‘Then their purpose may itself arouse suspicion.’

‘I pray, for pity, do not ask him yet, but know he is a most devout, unhappy man. Find what you can to bear out his statement.
In the meantime, let him rest. There is another possibility that has occurred to me. I hardly like to mention it.’

‘But you feel that you must.’

‘Well then, I must. The boy died from a blow to the head?’

‘Without question. His skull was smashed in.’

‘I have known men with head wounds behave in improbable ways. Soldiers left with half a brain have battled on to win the field, or with most savage injuries have strolled around for hours. Is it possible he could have climbed into the closet bed himself?’

‘Aye, if the blow had cured him of his horror of small spaces,’ snorted Hew. ‘And did he also wrap himself up in a parcel of cloth and place the weapon of destruction neatly by his side?’

‘I grant it unlikely. Alright, he was placed in the closet by the killer, to conceal the crime. But we don’t know when he died. Perhaps he was alive when he was put there, and did not die for several hours.’

‘Which puts the crime as possible again the night before. I thank you, Giles. This does not help. Is there no way out of it?’

Giles shook his head. ‘If I had the body, and the cloth it was wrapped in, from the pattern of effusion, it might be possible to tell. Without the corpse, or even the cloth, which I imagine is long gone, I can tell you nothing.’

‘I’m lost here, Giles. You have widened the scope. Explain to me quite how this helps us.’

Giles appeared hurt. ‘I merely mark the possibilities. Let me reiterate, I think it most likely that the boy was dead when he found his way into the closet, and that he died at some point in the afternoon. Unless you find out to the contrary, I should accept that as the starting point. But where you go from there, I cannot say. You seem ill-tempered, Hew. I cannot think college life suits you.’

‘Remind me, Giles, why we are friends.’

‘You for the sake of my wit, and I for the sake of your sister.’