Hue and Cry (43 page)

‘That is what my father says.’ Hew sighed. ‘I do not know. But for the moment, I must see my students to their declamations. There is no hope, I suppose, that Nicholas may still return?’

The physician paused to consider it. At length he said. ‘He will not work again. Yet I observe a change in him. He is more quiet in his mind. I wonder what effected it? Your father has offered him a home at Kenly Green. These strange events have exercised his spirits, and he finds that he is younger than he thought he was. He is resolved, he says, to live a little longer yet.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Hew retorted dryly. ‘How did Nicholas receive the offer?’

‘Gladly, and with grace. Almost, I might say, with
hope
.’

‘Then he has changed,’ his friend observed. ‘Perhaps it was the fear of death that was tormenting him.’

Giles shook his head. ‘He’s not afraid to die. And yet, I’ll vouch, it could not be the king. You heard him, Hew. We were only puppets, dancing in his play. He was disposed to toy with us. It pleased him; he grew bored with it. He did not see the tragedy.’

‘Perhaps he did, though,’ Hew conjectured, ‘and we may not know it. After all, he is the king.’

‘Well, it all is settled now. Meg will be sad to see you go. She feels she has not come to know you yet.’

‘She should be glad to see the back of me,’ Hew answered lightly, ‘after what I put her through.’

‘Aye, that’s the strange thing,’ observed Giles. ‘She has only seen the back of you. You are a mystery, Hew. You have drawn us all into chaos and disorder, in and out of danger, into peril of our
lives, and yet we hardly know you, and you leave a stranger. Stay awhile and show yourself. Else I must think you like the king who sweeps us up and sets us down like pieces on a board but does not really care how he disposes us.’

Hew laughed. ‘That’s surely harsh. Though I allow I have not made myself well known to Meg,
you
must allow I have been somewhat busy for more social intercourse. But you, Giles, can hardly have felt me a stranger. We have known each other far too well for that, and for far too long.’

‘Aye, I concede, I do know a great deal about you,’ Giles agreed. ‘I know your taste in women and your fondness for French soap, your thoughts on Aristotle and your weakness for your horse. But these things, I protest, though I know well, they are not
you
, for that has been well hidden. Your real self is concealed from us, kept busy by its own distractions. When will we know you, Hew Cullan? When will
your
story be heard?’

‘What nonsense!’ Hew retorted. But already he had turned his back, and was staring out to sea. At length he added quietly. ‘Perhaps it is not finished. Rest assured, it will be told.’

One quiet afternoon before the final disputations, while his students played upon the links, Hew took his walk along the Kinness Burn. And presently beyond the trees he came upon the little house with its single wisp of blue smoke and found the dyer’s son at work among the pots. Will raised his cap.

‘Good day to you, Master Cullan. We have not seen you here awhile.’

‘I heard your mother died. I’m sorry for it.’

‘Aye. We buried her beside her bairn. She did not want to share my father’s grave. The minister was vexed, but at the last accepted it. It was what she wished.’

‘Did she tell you what it was your father did?’

Will shook his head. ‘He broke her heart, that’s all. What does it matter now? They both are dead. Your sister came to see her at the end. She brought your physician friend Doctor Locke, the
grand mediciner, huffing through his handkerchief. He couldna help her, though. They made her comfortable, for which I’m glad.’

‘I did not know,’ Hew answered awkwardly. ‘You’re lonely here?’ ‘We’re quiet, aye. My brother took the bairns to town. He’s to be married, have you heard, to Tibbie Strachan. Her ma and da gone, the farm and the wool shop are come down to her. Tis good enough for him, he says. They both are orphans now. He wasna one for dyeing.’

‘Good, that’s good, I’m glad of it. What happened to Tom Begbie?’

‘Strachan’s death released him from his bonds, and he went off in search of his lass. To the ends of the earth, if he has to.’

‘He will not find her,’ Hew said sadly.

‘No? I feared not.’ Will turned his back to him, stirring the pots.

‘And your sister Jennie? Have you heard from her?’

‘I hear the rumours, sir. I do not heed them. Jennie is a good girl in her heart. Last week the bairns were sent a present of a crate of sugarplums. And for myself, a box of colours, all the way from France. Now, sir,’ he cleared his throat. ‘I’ve a dye here quite unlike the rest. I’m sure you’d like a look before you go.’