Fate and Fortune (18 page)

‘Then what were they looking for?’ He struggled to dismiss the thought of Catherine, focusing on Christian.

Phillip shrugged. ‘They had word, they said, of illicit printing on these premises. They have taken away the copy in their search for evidence. When they do not find it – be assured, they will not find it,’ he said fiercely to Christian, ‘then they will absolve us and return it. All this means is that someone has complained of us. As to who, we need not ask. It was Allan Chapman.’

‘Can you be sure?’ Hew frowned.

‘It is most likely, Hew,’ Christian confirmed. ‘Do not be alarmed. Though this may slow us down, it will not stop us. It is a hazard of our trade. The press will be restored.’

Hew left them to their clearing up, and walked down to the Cowgate, coming back to Blackfriars wynd. For close to Bessie Brewster’s, by the school, he had noticed Allan Chapman’s printing house. He stood outside a moment, looking at the wares that Chapman had displayed on a counter folding out towards the street: inkhorns for schoolboys, penners and quills, and a small stack of pamphlets and books. He took a moment to compose himself before he pushed open the door. He found the master printer folding paper at his counter, at the forefront of his shop, a man in his late forties with a sly, suspicious smile. The printer gave a cautious welcome: ‘Can I help you, sir? You are, perhaps, a master at the school?’ He had noticed Hew’s black coat.

‘Indeed not,’ Hew said pleasantly, without elaboration. ‘I have a book that I am hoping to have printed.’

‘Oh aye?’ Chapman watched him narrowly. ‘What kind of book?’

‘It is a text book, for students of the law, written by my father. He was an advocate in the justice court, some years ago.’

The printer looked cunning, counting the cost. ‘I know not, if we are the place for such a venture,’ he replied at last.

‘My father left sufficient funds to see it through the press,’ Hew mentioned carelessly.

‘Then that may be different. Let me take a look at it.’

‘Unfortunately, I do not have it here. It was at the press of Christian Hall, and was seized by the council this morning, along with the type. Perhaps you had heard?’

‘Really? Ah, really?’ Chapman looked amused, and, unless he acted well, quite pleasantly surprised. ‘Indeed, I had not heard,’ he commented. ‘So Christian had the bailies in.’ Though clearly welcomed, Hew felt sure this came as news. ‘Dear, dear! Was there something in your book to cause offence?’

‘I confess, I do not know; I have not read it,’ Hew admitted. ‘What would they be looking for? Should I be concerned?’

‘In general, Catholic tracts,’ the printer answered thoughtfully, ‘or anything thought likely to offend the kirk or king. Which is not always easy to predict,’ he smiled, a little sourly, ‘since what pleases one,
invariably
is poison to the other. I am afraid that sudden closure is a hazard of the press. We all are in perpetual thrall and censure of the council. Christian’s closing down may not be permanent. Though if it is, of course,’ he added, ‘she may find herself in gaol. Which only goes to prove what I have always said, that printing is no business for a woman. Least of all, a woman with a bairn.’

‘I cannot think my father’s book could cause offence,’ reflected Hew. ‘It was a simple textbook, somewhat sad and serious.’

‘Then the script will be returned to you, when it has been passed. By all means, when you have it, bring it here to us, and we will talk on terms. You are prepared, I suppose, to take on the full cost?’ Chapman persisted greedily.

‘That was the general idea,’ Hew agreed. ‘There are, of course, some other printers in the town. Such as Henry Charteris.’

‘Charteris does not take piecework,’ Chapman countered. ‘I have no doubt, we can meet you on fair terms.’

‘What I cannot understand,’ Hew returned, ‘is why Christian Hall’s press has been singled out for censure? When yours, for example, has been left unscathed.’

‘They may come to us in time,’ the printer grimaced. ‘But it is more likely that the council were informed by someone where to look. Most often, that is the way of it.’

‘Then who might inform them? A rival, perhaps, in the trade?’ suggested Hew.

Chapman looked at him shrewdly. ‘If we did
that
sir, we would none of us stay open longer than a week. Let us hope the information received was false, and that Christian does not languish in the gaol like Robert Lekprevik.’

‘We must hope not,’ agreed Hew. ‘Meanwhile, since we may assume the script will be restored to us, may I look around your shop, and see some examples of your work?’ He had no real sense of what he should be looking for, yet he wanted to know more of Allan Chapman.

‘You may sir, if you do not stop the work,’ Chapman nodded. ‘I will show you round. We have three presses here, which means our capacity is far greater than Christian’s. Each press can produce up to fifteen hundred sheets in a twelve-hour day. To which end, we employ five pressmen, and the occasional extra hand, as this man here, who is working in two colours,’ he droned on, as they began their tour. ‘The black ink we buy in, in barrels, but the red is vermillion, bought as pigment and made up by the week boy on the premises. Two-colour printing is skilled work, and if you required it, would cost a little more. Alternatively, you can have the book coloured by hand, after it is printed. Do you wish for illustrations?’

Hew was no longer listening. He was staring at the beater who applied the ink in quick, deft circles to the forme locked in the press. ‘But I know you!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are Marten Voet, the card seller.’

Marten placed a sheet of paper down upon the forme and turned back to face them as the pressman pulled. ‘You are mistaken, sir,’ he answered quietly. ‘My name is Luc Martin. We have never met.’

‘Indeed, I am certain of it,’ insisted Hew. He confronted Allan Chapman. ‘This man is a card maker from Antwerp. I have met him once before, in St Andrews at the senzie fair, and he has lately been selling his wares in the hie gate, where he was fined for unfree trading.’

Chapman shrugged. ‘That was not the tale I heard, though he is an itinerant. As far as I know, he is Luc Martin, a Frenchman, lately crossed from Rouen to Leith. Here, this will not do,’ he roared at Martin, ‘the ink is far too thick, and you have taken up too much of it. The paper has rubbed. Take care, man! Paper may come cheap to you in France, but they sell it dear enough to us; we cannot afford to waste it.’

‘Will you lose me my place, sir?’ Marten whispered to Hew, as he took up a waste sheet of paper. ‘For pity, why would you do that?’ He dabbed off the excess ink. Hew heard the desperation in his voice, and stepped back in confusion. He was certain, after all, that this was Marten Voet. Yet why should he expose him? He told a desperate tale of fear and persecution, living by his wits. Who could blame him if he chose to change his name?

‘Then I am mistaken,’ Hew conceded awkwardly, ‘And I beg your pardon.’

Marten muttered, ‘
Thank
you,’ turning quickly back towards the press.

‘Now then, sir,’ Chapman said reproachfully, ‘you promised not to stop the work. If they fall behind, the men will lose their pay, and that is not fair to them. The puller, now, is out of time, through no fault of his own. You have seen, besides, all there is to see here. Come back into the shop. If you wish to look at books, then we have some on the counter. You will have to pay for binding at additional cost. Gibson is a good man, near the tron. Now, what was it you were saying, about the Frenchman, Luc Martin? He is an itinerant journeyman, and I confess, I know little about him. Do you say that he cannot be trusted?’

‘Not at all,’ Hew capitulated hurriedly. ‘I fear I was misled. I took him for another man.’

‘Aye?’ Chapman sounded sceptical. ‘In any case, I will not keep him long. His work is careless, and wants finish. He came opportunely, when we wanted a man, but since he does not satisfy, I’ll let him go at the end of the week.’

‘I should not like to think I cost him his place,’ protested Hew, ‘by cause of an honest mistake.’

‘Not at all,’ Chapman said politely. ‘I am much obliged to you. I never cared for foreigners. They are a menace and a pest, a very plague.’

‘You offered to wed Christian, did you not?’ Hew asked him at the door.

The printer regarded him curiously. ‘Aye, I did,’ he admitted, after a moment. ‘It was meant for a kindness. It is a hard thing for a woman to run a printing house. The offer was refused, and I was turned away, most unkindly. I shall not venture help to her again. But I think, sir, you are implying something other in your question. I do not like your tone.’

‘I meant nothing,’ Hew said thoughtfully, ‘save that I admired your wish to help her. I heard that you were kind enough to offer her a press, when she was frozen out.’

‘Aye, in our laich house,’ Chapman answered warily. ‘Regrettably, someone left his candle burning, and it caused a fire.’

‘I understood it was a boy of yours?’ probed Hew.

‘Did you, now? Ah, I see the way of it,’ Chapman stared at him. ‘Then ask yourself this: what sort of man sets light to his own
premises
? If any boy of mine had left his candle burning, then you would not find him here to tell the tale. If you want to know who threatens Christian’s business, look to Phillip Ramsey. That is all I’ll say. And now, good day to you. When you have your manuscript for printing, I’ll be glad to see it.’ Angrily, he closed the door.

Hew found Richard at the tolbooth, where he broke the news. Richard listened gravely. ‘Damn the burgh council! They have taken all the papers? And your father’s too?’

‘Aye, and all the formes and letter. They have closed the press.’

‘Then we must use what influence we have to bring the matter to a close.’

‘It is good of you,’ Hew answered, gratefully.

‘Not at all. Your interests are mine,’ Richard promised.

They found the council clerk at his office in St Giles. Richard quizzed him for a moment, and then groaned and turned to Hew. ‘The burgh court is still sitting upstairs; it cannot help our case if we burst in. The bad news is it was your old friend Wishart who brought in the
manuscript
. He is ever over-zealous, and he always goes a step too far. Though the clerk will go to fetch him, he will doubtless make us wait. He will enjoy the little power that he has over us.’ He sighed. ‘I have scant patience with these councillors. And yet I fear we must allow their petty rule, and swallow it. God did not make me well for such humility.’

‘This is kind; you need not wait,’ Hew said apologetically.

‘Not at all. I will not leave you in their thrall. If we must squirm, then we shall squirm together,’ his friend insisted.

Wishart made them wait for the best part of an hour before he came to meet them, smiling unctuously. ‘What business do you have, sirs, with the burgh council?’

‘Good sir,’ Richard answered smoothly, ‘we are come on behalf of the printer Christian Hall, whose press you have impounded. We beg to ask, upon what charge?’

‘There is no charge,’ the bailie said, ‘as yet. The press is under investigation, for illicit printing. If we find evidence of such, and a charge is brought, you will be informed.’

‘You have taken, sir, among the matter of her press, a manuscript that belongs to my friend here. Since it is his property, and not that of Christian Hall, I ask that you return it.’

‘Ah, yes, I do recall,’ the bailie smiled unpleasantly, ‘that this is your wild prentis lad, the erstwhile vagabond. Rest assured your manuscript is in safe hands. It will be examined by the censor, and when he is assured that it has nothing to offend, it will be returned to you.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Richard said crossly. ‘The work is a legal
textbook
; it contains nothing untoward. If the court has doubts, then I suggest that you release the manuscript to me, since I am better qualified than any in your council to examine its contents, and assess whether or not there is malice in them.’

‘That may well be, sir, but the fact is,’ said the bailie firmly, ‘this is a matter for our jurisdiction, not for yours. These effects will remain here until they are examined, when, if they are harmless, they will be returned to Christian Hall, whence they were removed. If they prove malignant, sir, and you wish to represent her, then, in due course, you will hear from us.’

‘But what is it you are looking for?’ asked Hew.

‘That I am not at liberty to tell you. You may have no fear, sir, if, in truth, there is nothing to offend there. But we are informed that something foul has issued from the press and we are bound to follow up the information.’

‘Your information was malicious, then, and I must doubt its source,’ Hew complained.

‘As to that, our source was impeccable,’ Wishart answered loftily.

‘And, I doubt, you are not free to divulge it,’ Richard sneered.

‘On the contrary. Because it was impeccable, and made most frank and freely, I can see no reason why it should not be disclosed. The complaint was made by the minister of the kirk of St Giles, Walter Balcanquall. So you will understand why we have to take it seriously.’

‘The minister! Then we must go to him, Richard, and demand to know what he meant by it,’ Hew exclaimed.

Richard frowned. ‘Stay,’ he advised, placing a hand on Hew’s arm. ‘This puts a different complexion on things.

‘Step aside a moment,’ he said softly. ‘This may be more serious than I thought. Walter Balcanquall is an honest man, who is not fearful of controversy. He would not bring this charge without due cause. We must move more cautiously. Let me speak with him on Sunday, after kirk, and meantime wait to see what transpires. Take a moment to reflect. I know the man, Hew. He would not make an accusation out of malice.’

‘Then he has made a mistake,’ Hew answered hotly.

‘That is very likely. Nonetheless, these are dangerous waters. Therefore let us be circumspect, and not jump in headlong. It is likely, while we wait, the press will be restored, and we will have no cause to trouble Balcanquall. I must confess I do not like this, Hew.’

‘Do not make your noises in our court,’ the bailie interrupted smugly, ‘and we may not have to trouble you in yours. The sooner you are gone, sir, the sooner we may see to Christian Hall.’

Richard bowed stiffly. ‘I am disappointed, that you do not see fit to return my friend’s possession to him.’

‘We shall take good care of it. And if the work is blameless, he shall have it in due course. And if, of course, it isn’t, he shall share the blame,’ the bailie winked, ‘since he has made a claim to it.’

‘Let us come away now,’ Richard muttered, ‘for I fear we do more harm than good. ‘Does it not enrage you, Hew?’ he demanded, in a sudden show of temper, from the safety of the street, ‘that he should have such power? That little man sits swaddled in his own smug suit of lard. No sooner had you come within the city than he had you thrown in gaol, and took away your liberty. Now he lays his greasy hands on Matthew’s book. Dearly, I should like to wrench it from him.’

‘To speak truth, I care less for the book than for the effect on Christian’s business,’ Hew replied more reasonably.

‘Aye, we must secure the press,’ Richard agreed. ‘But since you are my friend, and in some sense my dependant, then my first concern is for you. There was nothing, I suppose, in Matthew’s book to do you harm?’

‘Not that I know. Though most of it I have not read,’ admitted Hew. ‘And part of it is damaged still. I cannot think the censor will make much of it.’

Richard nodded. ‘Then we must wait, and hope that you are right. No, we shall not wait. There must be something more. I will not let that man defeat us. I will speak to the provost, and look to a higher authority,’ he promised.

It appeared, against all odds, that Richard’s petition to the provost had some influence, for the following day, all Christian’s possessions were returned to her, together with Hew’s manuscript, and her licence to print was restored. ‘But why?’ she asked the bailies, baffled, and was told they had not found what they were looking for. ‘And what was that?’ she asked in vain. The answer came when they went next to kirk, from Walter Balcanquall.

The kirk was a great leveller, at least upon the surface; though it was a place where paupers mixed with kings, the rich had stools and settles in the choir while the poor had to stand and huddle in the dust, crowded at the back or on the floor. There were sermons daily in the great kirk of St Giles, but the Sunday service was the main attraction, looked forward to by many through the week. The reformers had
partitioned
off the church, dividing it in sections, and there were several ministers straining to be heard, proclaiming doom from different sides and slants. Among them was the tolbooth kirk, where malefactors were exposed on Sundays; and members of the great kirk often strayed to see them; given choice of sermon, they attended both. Parts of the church had been pressed into secular use, as council rooms and meeting places, with a second thieves’ hole underneath an aisle, closer to the graveyard than to God. In the glory days before the reformation the high altar of the kirk had been the haunt of money changers; now this landmark had been swept away and they conducted business at the regent Moray’s tomb, and the far aisles rang with the chink of passing coins. The cramers, for their part, had continued to expand, and clung like barnacles to all the outer reaches of the walls. It would be hard to conceive of a part of human life that was not represented there, the traffic of the world, from birth to death, and if there was no actual copulation in the kirk, it was amply represented in the text. For since the great days of John Knox, now mouldering peaceful in St Giles’ kirkyard, the congregations had enjoyed a blistering succession of attacks. The present incumbent, Walter Balcanquall, could be relied upon to carry on the form. He did not spare the people or their sins the full and scathing censure of a scornful God. Nor did he balk at touching on controversy, or fear the wrath of council or of king. His sermons were looked forward to, with hope and trepidation, as the thrilling climax to a dreary week.

Hew took his place among the crowd, seated between Richard and the children, on the family settle near the front. The service began with a psalm and a sequence of readings that warmed a restless
audience
up for the main event. Finally, when all was calm, and the coughs and sneezing done with, Walter Balcanquall appeared. Balcanquall was a man of great authority, and a popular preacher. He had the
presence
to wait until the audience were entirely still before he deigned to speak, beginning only then in a low and quiet voice, which rose to a crescendo, once they were absorbed. He could lull or stir a crowd of thousands, at the height of his powers. Now, as the chamber hushed, he began to speak.

‘Some of you no doubt recall that I spoke to you four months ago of the depravities and evils in our royal court.’ Balcanquall paused for a moment, looking round, as though to ascertain the presence of the king, and Hew strained his neck towards the royal platform, but the box was empty; James was absent at the abbey kirk at Holyrood. The minister gave a sigh, though whether of disappointment or relief was hard to tell. He had his congregation with him, from his mention of the court. A quiver of anticipation flickered round the kirk.

‘For which,’ the minister went on, into the heady silence, ‘l was called to answer to the Privy Council. And as you will know, I made good my account, and had the full support there of the kirk assembly, as was right and just. For I was not afeared to speak the truth. I spoke to you of whoredom and adultery, and of the wicked converse of the French at court, that led to that disease so aptly called the French pox, or the
morbus gallicus
, that is the outward marker of a filthie soul.’

From the corner of his eye, Hew saw Richard smile to Eleanor, who was glancing somewhat anxiously at Grace. Roger, for his part, was grinning broadly, though he had grumbled roundly as they left the house. Hew could feel the crowd around him, taut with expectation, hushed in the fear that they might miss a word.

‘And that disease, I telt ye,’ Balcanquall was thundering, ‘was rife throughout the Canongate, and in the precincts of Holyrood house. Now, I have to tell ye, that pernicious evil creeps upon the high town, and its filth is spread to our own houses. And did I not warn ye, that unless we rid ourselves of this filth, and unless we repent, and make clean the king’s house, then all of us are likely to be damned? And for that cause, I was not afeared to stand up here before ye and decrie the king his evil, for the vanity and licence that pollutes the royal house. And I am not afeared to say to ye again, the wickedness that taints that house continues still. For here, in my hands, I have the proof of it, a set of verses foul enough to make ye blush, yet part of which, I read to you, as a warning of the muck that issues still from that unhappy court. It is a poem called
Morbus Gallicus
, or otherwise,
The French Disease
, that begins in wanton pleasure, ending in destruction, of the body and the soul.’

Balcanquall unfurled his paper, his hands shaking with emotion, and made low his voice again as he began to read:

This reading was so rare and provocative a treat that the people took a moment to digest it. They waited patiently in hope of explication. Balcanquall let the silence drift a full two minutes before he began again. ‘Aye, ye are speechless, are you not, in the face of such depravity? Now this has come from that same court, and lest ye did not follow it, I will make it plain to you.’

At Richard’s side, Hew saw Eleanor send up a silent prayer that he would not.

‘Tinsel, as you know, is the utter devastation, of a property, and more than that, in sight of God, it is damnation, or the devastation of the soul. Now I read this as a warning to ye all, where these worldly vanities will take ye, if ye do not keep your houses clean; then set aside your longings and your lusts, your filthy toys and vanities, your
cravings
for embroidered cloths and costly foreign fripperies, your wasted hours at dice and gaming, cards and other sports, your long nights at the tavern, when ye ought to be at prayer; Or else your own
destruction
soon awaits ye, here, and hereafter, body and soul.’