Hue and Cry (27 page)

He unlocked the door, and Hew knew at once by the fragrance that Meg was there, the melting dark falling of flesh from the bone.

‘Beef and oyster stew,’ she called, in explanation, ‘and a spinach tart with plums. Forgive me, Doctor Locke. Paul let me in.’

‘Thank God,’ said Giles with feeling. ‘But how have you escaped from Lucy Linn?’

‘Syrup of red poppy. She will sleep for several hours.’

‘God save us, Meg! What have you done?’ cried Hew.

‘It does her good.’ She had closed the door upon the room where Nicholas lay resting. Standing on the threshold like the mistress of the house, she glared at them defensively. ‘Lucy is distracted with the bearing of her child, beset with wild thoughts and sick fancies. She imagines the babe is a demon inside her. It discolours her dreams and darkens to despair her waking hours. The poppy juice allows her some respite, and the rest she requires to balance her humours. Tis not for my sake, nor for yours, I give it her.’

‘An unnatural case,’ Giles observed. ‘In general, falling with a child will serve to anchor down the womb, its restlessness the source of such afflictions;
graviditas
the cure, and not the cause.’

‘Ah, you think so, do you?’ Meg rounded on him angrily, ‘Tis
unnatural
to fear the throes of childbirth?
Anchored
by the terror, and the sickness, and the pain? You think all our ills may be cured by a man in the bed and a bairn in the womb? That what does not kill us must cure us?’

‘That,’ he said mildly, ‘is what I think.’

Hew said, shocked, ‘For shame, Meg! How can you speak to him so?’

‘The dyer’s child is dead,’ she answered, turning to the fire.

There was a moment’s silence, then Giles said very quietly, ‘Then I am sorry for it.’

Meg affected to be busy with the pot. Hew swallowed. ‘When did you hear?’

‘The minister. He called to see us after he left you this morning. He said to thank you,’ she looked at Hew, ‘for your part in the examinations.’

Her brother shook his head, ‘It was a poor one.’

‘He spoke well of you. He mentioned the death. Will had come to him to ask permission to inter the baby in its father’s grave, but the session had opposed it.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘The infant died without the sacrament. But the minister said – he is a good man, Hew – he said that there was nothing marked the case apart but idle superstition, and that Henry in the eyes of God was a chrisom child. He would see to it himself that Henry would be buried with his father, as was proper and most practical.’

Hew nodded. ‘That is a blessing.’

‘So we thought. But the minister said that when he said the same to Janet, she refused. She would not place the baby in her husband’s grave.’

‘She may not have accepted that the child is dead,’ suggested Giles. Meg shook her head.

‘She swore that if they took him there, she’d tear him from the ground. He is to lie instead outside the city gates, I know not where, in this world or the next. The minister felt vexed for it, but for all his good prayers he could not dissuade her from the force of her despair.’

‘This is a sad and strange story,’ said Hew. ‘Yet I do wonder what has moved her quite so violently against her husband, that she would deny her child a proper burial. He was, I’m told, a godly man, and lies well placed in death before the kirk.’

‘What say you, Doctor Locke?’ Meg rounded sharply, ‘is it the widow’s helplessness – the absence of her man – that makes her so unreasonable?’

Giles cleared his throat. ‘I wonder how our present patient does?’ he ventured.

‘I left him sleeping, or at least, pretending to. He does not like me here. I followed your instructions and began with the manipulations, and I fear he liked them less, though was too polite to say. Our attentions are sorely a trial to him, but still in spite of them, and of himself, he makes a slow recovery,’ Meg answered seriously.

‘You begin to sound like Giles,’ said Hew, ‘except for that word
recovery
, which I swear, I never heard him say.’

‘Tsk, tis bad luck,’ Giles insisted sternly, ‘like milking the cow
before market, or cutting your toenails at sea. Or stirring your oyster stew backwards.’

‘I have not heard that one.’ Meg laughed, in spite of herself.

‘That is the very worst of them. For it does not exist.’

‘What manipulations?’ Hew asked suddenly.

Giles and Meg exchanged a glance.

‘Doctor Locke’s instructions for the workings of the limbs,’ Meg explained carefully, ‘which are weakened by the illness. They prove difficult to implement.’

‘I beg to ask, what limbs?’

Giles interrupted hurriedly, ‘Have you met the Strachans yet, Meg? Did you not say you had gone to the shop?’

‘Aye, and they were strange,’ said Meg. She frowned. ‘The weaver is a bully. I might think him capable enough of having killed the boy, were the death not so plainly to his disadvantage.’

‘How so?’ Hew was momentarily distracted, as the doctor had intended. ‘How has it affected him?’

‘His business fails without his brother’s patronage. There is the hint of a quarrel between them. Gilbert left for the Low Countries without their wools as export, and has left none of the lace and silks they have come to expect of him.’

‘I had heard the same. Still, we may suspect him capable of killing in a passion, even to his disadvantage,’ Hew reflected. ‘But it is harder to suppose he had the opportunity, if Alexander died on Sunday afternoon.’ He looked reproachfully at Giles. ‘It’s Agnes, Strachan’s wife, who holds my interest now. She was alone that afternoon. She swore a statement for the Crown. Could you make a friend of her?’

‘Perhaps,’ Meg faltered, ‘but I liked her, Hew.’

‘I do not ask you to deceive her. Since you like her, be her friend. She may confide in you.’

‘She did ask me for advice upon a personal matter. She looked for a receipt to bring on her courses.’

Hew raised an eyebrow at Giles, who said nothing.

‘She hinted,’ Meg went on, ‘that all has not been well between
her and her husband now for years. He blamed her for all their misfortunes, and most, for the lack of a son, claiming the bloods that blackened and congealed in her womb had somehow polluted his seed. She wished for a son to put right the harm, but was hindered by the stopping of her menstrual courses, that had thickened in her womb and would not flow.’

‘Forgive me,’ interrupted Giles, ‘for this rude intrusion, a novice though I am in these affairs. But do I understand her to request a potion to provoke the menses that she might procure a child?’

‘Yes. For the disease of the womb that stopped her courses after Tibbie was born, on and off for thirteen years. I told her pennyroyal, wild carrot seed, or saxifrage and sage leaves in a broth might serve her well.’

‘Indeed they might. But consider, for I do like to consider, as you know, for sake of argument, suppose that she required a potion to provoke the menses that she
not
procure a child?’

‘I . . . had not considered it.’ Meg coloured. ‘She has a husband.’

‘So she has,’ Giles agreed gently. ‘Tis curious, you know. But if she does not want a child, the herbs you recommend will serve her just as well.’

Meg was silent. Then she said, in a small voice, ‘I have been foolish.’

‘No. But it’s a possibility. Indeed, it does surprise me it has not occurred to
you
, since you consider childbed such a cruel encumbrance.’

‘You mean,’ it dawned on Hew, ‘that Agnes wanted medicines for
loosening
a child?’

‘Probably not,’ said the doctor. ‘Most probably, she is afflicted with a blackened vaporous womb that is – forgive me, Meg – the cause of all her sorrows and her husband’s too and has left them both without a son. I merely make the other case, as possible, that Agnes finds herself unhappily with child, and looks to be relieved of it. Either may be true.’

‘Why do you do this?’ Hew cried, exasperated, ‘
Either
this, or
yet
the other; either
yes
or
no
!’

‘Because they are alternatives,’ Giles answered in astonishment. ‘Did they teach you nothing at the university?’

Nicholas was woken by the voices. He tried to lift himself from the cot, but the exertion overwhelmed him. There was stiffness in his limbs and thick fog in his lungs, as though they were not his, as though he tried to move and breathe within a heavy cloud of sand. His illness left him faint and short of breath, but unexpectedly detached. For months he had fought to take possession of his limbs, for self-control, and now command was lost, the cause was lost, he found the loss purgative. All that was done, in sickness and in cure, he now accepted quietly, and lay submissive, broken by his peace. The corpse did not belong to him. And though he knew the time would come when they would force it home, that he must take possession once again before he died, that men would come to do him hurt, he did not care. He could not imagine that it could belong to him again. It belonged to someone else.

‘How do I know I am alive?’ he asked aloud, ‘I think, but do not feel.’

‘Tis a question of some pertinence,’ replied a voice. Nicholas opened his eyes, which cost him effort.

‘Hew. I did not hear you come. How long have you been there?’

‘I was talking with my good friend Doctor Locke, when the discourse turned a touch sophistical, so I resolved to come to you. You were dreaming, I think.’

‘You have more questions,’ Nicholas sighed.

‘For the moment, no. There will be questions, though.’ His friend looked grave. ‘And it were well to be prepared for them.’

‘What shall I say?’

‘The truth.’

‘I have considered it. Why do
you
ask it?’

‘I am resolved to make a defence for you.’

‘Perhaps I do not want one.’

‘Perhaps I do not want to make one. Yet I am resolved.’ Hew changed his tone, ‘I met one of your magistrands today.’

‘Which one?’ His friend stirred a little, lifting his head.

‘A man called Duncan Stewart. He assisted at the examinations.’

‘He is not the best of them.’

Hew helped him to sit forward on the pillow.

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ he confessed. ‘I have to take the class next week, and find myself in awe of them. So I have come here for advice.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘I do not think that is why you are come,’ he whispered.

‘No, but it’s a start. I see you are comfortable here. Shall I bring you some books to read?’

‘Perhaps. What happened at the examinations? Was anyone elected?’

Hew told him what had happened. ‘What vexed me almost more,’ he concluded, ‘was Black’s prevarication, “for myself I should elect the boy, in conscience I cannot”. Too weak to speak against the principal, yet he pretends he sees some greater end. What the devil did he mean about his conscience?’

Nicholas was interested. ‘Do not blame Robert, though I grant he may be weak. He does not care for complication in his life. But he has a conscience. He has reservations, as to what awaits the boy.’

‘Then he must protect him.’

‘And he had the power. You overestimate his standing with the principal. I can tell you this: there is no doubt that this boy will suffer cruel misuse within the college. If he is fortunate, he may retain his life; God willing, he may even take the wreath. His days will not be happy ones.’

‘If he is bullied by the earl’s son, and his regent turns his back to it, then I will take his part myself.’

‘You may try.’ Nicholas sighed. ‘I had the same problem with young Duncan Stewart, but to a lesser degree. The principal took exception to my interference, even when he threatened fellow
students with his knife. There are two bursars in the magistrand class, where once there were twelve. They are devout, hard-working men, and worthy of the laurel wreath. At the end of this year they will graduate. There will be no feasting, no gifts of gloves, but their honours nonetheless will be deserved. They may well go on to be regents. One of them may take
my
place. Assuming,’ he said wryly, ‘that you do not mean to hold the post for life.’

‘You will return to it,’ Hew interjected firmly.

‘I think not.
One
will take my place, where he will have no sway upon his students, but will himself be helpless, bullied and enthralled. And when he complains to the principal of violent misbehaviour and of truants from his lectures, he will be told, most graciously, that he may charge them sixpence and be glad, for each additional reading of the text. Your friend Stewart was perplexed,’ he smiled a little ruefully, ‘I would not take his sixpence to review the text, when he preferred to spend the lecture hour in bed.’

‘You do not ease my qualms about the teaching.’

‘The magistrands are well prepared. Theirs is a solid year, apart from one or two. But you see, without the bursars the balance tips towards the sons of men who buy their way. The bursars now are left exhausted. They share the work of twelve, and college servants too, for Gilchrist makes economies wherever he can misdirect their ends. The bursars, as you know, must sweep the floors and fetch the coals and light the fires. Aye, and they empty the waters and slops. And fetch the meal and air the beds. And being prepared in their texts, they are expected to assist their betters form their feeble grasp on learning. If I do not read over to the likes of Duncan Stewart, it will fall to them. And they are the last in their beds, the soonest to rise.’

‘You do not seem to care for rich men’s sons.’ Hew felt uncomfortable. As a boy at college, he had counted Nicholas his friend, and yet he was aware it had been Nicholas who turned their bed, who rose before the dawn to bring the light, who, when Hew came to wash, had brought the water for the jug. And he had accepted it. Had it been resented then?

‘For some of them,’ his friend said softly, ‘I have cared. For others, no.’ He fell silent, and then smiled a little. ‘Do you count it irony at all, that your sister is performing those most gentle offices which once I undertook for you?’

‘What offices?’ Hew asked suspiciously.