Hue and Cry (30 page)

‘Is this true?’ the coroner questioned Paul.

‘Yes, sir,’ the servant grinned. ‘I did think him dead, until the doctor had explained it and the patient recovered. Tis a very cruel illness. The man was a wreck.’ Paul carefully avoided Gilchrist’s eye.

‘But you told me the doctor had cut off his head!’ the master spluttered.

‘I was mistaken, sir.’

‘How could you mistake a thing like that! Know you not, there are forfeits for bearing false witness?’

‘There are indeed,’ said Giles smoothly, ‘but Paul has not done so. He has told the truth.’ He fixed his gaze upon Gilchrist.

‘Do you wish to pursue your complaint?’ the coroner asked.

‘I . . .’ The meaning dawned on him. ‘I made it in good faith.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he countered patiently, ‘then will you now withdraw it?’

‘On account of a book and a blanket, man? Can you be mad? I will withdraw it when you find the man alive and prove to me he has no marks of mutilation on his throat.’

Giles sighed. ‘I was afraid you would insist upon it. Bear in mind, he is not well. But if you must intrude, you will find him at his rest.’

The coroner hesitated, but already the principal pushed through the door. Giles followed him, frowning. Meg was sitting on a stool besides the bed. She rose to greet them, obscuring the view.

‘This is a sick room, sir,’ she protested, ‘what can you want here?’

‘A word with the patient,’ Gilchrist snarled.

Nicholas stirred painfully. Attempting to speak, he gave way to a paroxysm of coughing, spitting helplessly into a cloth. Giles shook his head. ‘The lockjaw has left a black scab on the lung. This bloody phlegm and tremor he may not shake off.’

Warily, the coroner approached the patient. ‘You are Nicholas Colp?’ he ventured.

Nicholas whispered, ‘Yes.’

‘Is this the man?’ he asked Gilchrist humorously. ‘He seems to be alive.’

Gilchrist reached out, pulling the blanket from Nicholas’ shoulders. Incredulously, he tipped back his head, looking into his eyes, mouth and throat. Nicholas submitted quietly while Giles looked on detached. Presently he said, ‘Do you find him alive, sir?’

James Gilchrist scowled. ‘And if he is,’ he demanded abruptly, ‘then let him be taken. As he lives and breathes, he’ll answer for his crimes.’

The coroner scratched his head. ‘I thought we were come to prove the question of his being killed?’

‘Aye,’ retorted Gilchrist, ‘and having proved him not, you may repair to your original design, to take him as a killer to his trial. He is indicted, is he not? And the October sessions are upon us, are they not? Then take him, sir.’

‘Is he fit to stand trial?’ the coroner asked Giles doubtfully.

‘Fit to stand trial? You see how he fares. He’s not fit to stand.’

‘For pity,’ Meg protested. ‘Sir, he would not last the hour.’

‘What is she doing here?’ Gilchrist rounded nastily, ‘Who is she? I doubt you keep a woman in your rooms but to compound your magic, Locke. You know it is forbidden?’

Giles ignored him. ‘You must mark his frailty,’ he advised the coroner. ‘At present, he can barely speak. He is, as my servant well observed, quite racked and broken by the illness. Only God’s good grace has spared him.’

‘Well and good,’ observed the coroner. ‘Since he is alive, he must stand trial. But I cannot think, by this report and by the evidence of my own eyes, he might make the journey now and live to take the oath. Therefore one or other of you must make surety for him to appear at the justice ayres next year. The circuit court is due to sit again in spring. If you will nurse him here and pay his bail, you shall have the keeping of him until then, when I promise
you
, sir,’ he turned to Gilchrist, ‘he shall stand his trial, unless he has been called to face a higher court than this. I thank
you, Doctor Locke. You may bring the monies to the tolbooth in the morning. And I would counsel you,’ he added rather quickly as the principal began to speak, ‘not to raise reports against your friends which may construe as slanders, unless you wish to answer in the courts. Master Colp, I’ll see you in the spring. God willing,’ he allowed.

Gilchrist stared at Nicholas.

‘Will you leave, sir?’ Giles urged him pleasantly, ‘I fear your precipitate haste to see him hanged may vex the patient more, and discourage his recovery. Tis a slow process, you see, and a difficult one. I wonder you do not think to congratulate me on it?’

‘I will see
you
hanged,’ spat Gilchrist. ‘How have you done this, mediciner? I will swear, your servant thought him dead.’

‘I doubt he did,’ Giles answered easily. ‘He was mistaken. Paul is not a learned man.’

‘No. And he was not mistaken.’ The master leaned over the bed, and once again lifted Nicholas’ face to his. He looked into his eyes. ‘What
are
you, Colp? Twice killed? I saw you dead myself, and heard you dead again, and you live still. What devil are you, then?’

Nicholas gave an odd smile. ‘Perhaps I am your Nemesis, principal,’ he answered quietly.

‘I assure you,’ smiled the doctor, ‘there is no cause to pull so on his head. You’ll find it quite secure.’

Gilchrist countered, ‘No one has the lockjaw and survives. This is witchcraft, mediciner. I shall expose it.’

‘It is a little physic and the grace of God.’

‘Aye,’ whispered Nicholas, rubbing his jaw. ‘God’s grace I should survive to see you shamed.’

‘I shall see you damned.’ Gilchrist leered close again. ‘If you survive, it is to answer for your inwardness, your sodomies, your murders and your lies.’

‘I find your humours somewhat thick,’ frowned Giles. ‘Come, you are heavy and hot, sir, and sweating. I recommend phlebotomy. My friend Mr Parker is an excellent man.’

‘I shall not be deflected, sir. I know your tricks.’ The principal did not look well. An angry vein throbbed purple in his neck.

‘What is it, Meg?’ It was Nicholas who noticed her, as she began to fall. It came upon her at once, and she was powerless to prevent it, insidiously brewing through her dark fatigue. The strain and weariness of the last hours allowed it to take hold and it possessed her. She felt it coming with the light. It stopped the light and all her thoughts, and all her powers were useless then. It threw her to the ground.

‘What is it?’ he asked again.

She could not hear. She was returned among the demons of her dreams.

‘Lord,’ the coroner said unhelpfully, ‘she is possessed.’

It was Giles who recovered first and came to her, dropping down upon the ground to hold her head. He glared at the others. ‘Can you not see it, fools, she has the falland ill? Tis you have brought this on, with your intrusions. Don’t you know that this is a sick room? That these are my patients? I swear to you, you shall be made responsible for this. Leave us! I’ll attend to her.’

The coroner stared down in horror at the flailing girl. ‘Come. Master Gilchrist,’ he said hurriedly, ‘we’ll leave the brave physician to his task. There’s nothing for us here.’

Gilchrist looked disgusted. ‘It is a show. The matter will not rest here. Can’t you see the man’s a charlatan? This is done by art, to deflect our purpose.’

‘For pity’s sake, her lips are blue. But come away. I see no trick, and I would rather not be here. It turns my stomach. You have wasted my time, sir.’ The coroner left abruptly, without turning back.

‘Go now, Gilchrist,’ Giles said coldly, ‘before I have my servant throw you out of doors. Preserve some scrap of proper feeling, I implore.’

Gilchrist was trembling, ‘I do not believe this,’ he said menacing to Meg, ‘I know not who you are, nor what you do here. Doubt not, I shall discover it. I will return.’

‘That was cleverly done,’ the servant said admiringly as Gilchrist slammed the door. ‘I did not see the signal. How did you arrange it?’

‘Fool,’ said Giles, ‘this is no trick. This is your fault, Paul.’

Nicholas had pulled himself up from the bed. Gingerly, he lowered himself upon Meg’s other side.

‘Tell me how to help her,’ he pleaded.

‘Sit with her while I go for medicines. No, do not restrain her. Make safe the path of her head. Dear God, I should have guessed it,’ answered Giles.

‘She has the falling sickness?’

‘Aye, for certain. Send for Hew.’

Hew was gone from college, for it was the play hour. The regents had led their slow straggle of boys along the castle cliffs and down to the west sands. Those with bow and arrows practised at the butts, while a ragged game of football broke out on the shore. The rest continued to the links, ostensibly to play at golf, or rather to chase rabbits through the dunes. Robert Black asked pleasantly, ‘Will you play a round with me?’

‘Aye, then,’ Hew agreed.

‘Clubs, if you please!’ Robert called across into a group of students, and the smallest boy hurried towards them.

‘That’s your bursar, Thomas, is it not?’ Hew looked at him.

‘The same. I thank you, Thomas.’ Robert took a pair of clubs and handed one to Hew.

‘Has he carried all the clubs himself? That is a burden, surely, for so slight a boy?’

‘He is the bursar,’ Robert answered simply, ‘and, as I recall, you were the one who wanted to elect him.’

‘Aye, but not to that. Is no one else to help him?’

Robert shook his head. ‘I did advise you of it. Your own two bursars brought the bows, and went with Master Guthrie to the butts. One of them, the black-haired lad, shows promise as a bowman. He is our hope for June, when we have our competition.
The Auld College archers are weaker this year. Thomas here is too small for the longbow and is made guardian of the clubs. It is an honour, is it not?’ he asked ironically, ‘though he may not play himself.’

‘
May
not?’

‘Aye, he cannot. For he does not have the clubs. Run now, Thomas, for the magistrands are calling!’

The small boy disappeared behind the dunes.

Hew played several strokes without success, and finally declared his ball lost in the rough. Robert peered into a rabbit hole. ‘Aye, tis gone. I have another. You can play from here. If I may say so, you do not play well today.’

‘I’m sorry, Robert, I have something on my mind.’

‘I thought you had.’ Robert straightened gloomily. ‘Oblige me, pray, by not divulging it. Well, we shan’t play on. For I can see you have no heart for it, and if you will not try, then I do not care to trounce you. Which I should, of course.’

‘For certain,’ Hew said solemnly. ‘May I ask a favour? Can you mind the magistrands?’

His colleague looked alarmed. ‘Why, where are you going? You are too often absent, Hew. Gilchrist has been asking questions. I fear he will suspect you, and you know I cannot lie.’

‘Tell him I went looking for lost balls,’ Hew smiled at him. ‘I’ll not be long.’

Robert sighed. He waited for his friend to disappear across the links, resting on the handle of his club. When Hew was out of sight, he called out to the bursar. ‘Thomas! I am weary of the game,’ he told him as the boy approached, ‘and since I do not care to play today, then I shall help you caddy. Come, we’ll share the load.’

Hew hurried southward through the town to the west port and down past the Kinness Burn, into the farmland beyond. It was Katrin he was looking for. Her disappearance troubled him. Once he thought he saw a wisp of blue smoke curling in the distance where the drover’s cottage stood. He looked again to find it disappeared. It was a phantom, after all, a trick of wind.

When he arrived he found the place deserted. He folded back the hide that framed the door, tucking the folds into a rusted hook, and allowed a little air into the room. From the hole above the hearth a smoky daylight filtered down. He fingered the ashes, and found them still warm. The earthen floor was clean. There were blankets neatly folded on a fleece beside the fire. But most striking were the walls. From ceiling to floor they were painted, a shrill wash of colour on compacted earth; yellows and crimsons, emeralds, blues, all sticky-bright as marzipans. Hew smiled in recognition as he heard the sound of footsteps; turning round, he felt too late the trickle of the knife-edge on his skin.

A voice said, ‘If you touch them, I’ll kill you.’

‘Why would you do that?’ he answered evenly. ‘I thought that we were friends.’

She sketched a light line round his throat, a trailing, deepening necklace of dark beads. He caught his breath as he felt the blade shiver.

‘Will you put down the knife, Jennie? I mean you no harm.’

‘Sit over there on the bed.’ She motioned to the fleece.

‘
Pax
!’ He held forth his hands as she prodded him. Meekly, he dropped to the floor. ‘Tis a pretty toy you have. A little sharp.’

She had drawn back to study him, the dagger still poised, allowing his fingers to feel for the blood. He licked them ruefully.

‘How did you know I was here?’ she demanded.

‘I didn’t. Not until I saw the pictures. I expected Katrin.’

‘Don’t you listen? Katrin’s gone. I live here instead. What do you think of them?’ she retorted unexpectedly.

‘They are as grand as the ones in my cousin’s house. Grander, I think,’ he assured her solemnly, shrinking from the knife. ‘Must you prick me so?’

The child was satisfied. ‘I took the colours from the shop. Twas not stealing, you see, for they were Dada’s dyes, not Will’s, and Dada would have wanted me to have them.’

‘I am sure that he would. How long have you been living here?’

She shrugged. ‘Tis mine now. You won’t take me back.’

Hew wiped his face with the back of his hand.

‘I
could
kill you, I think,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘My friends would come after me.’

‘Would they, though? No one comes here.’

It was absurd. Held at the beck of a twelve-year-old girl. And yet, he thought, he could not risk disarming her of quite so sharp a blade. Instead he said mildly, ‘I am in your hands. Why would you kill me? I thought we were friends.’

‘We were, weren’t we? Did you bring sweets?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘No matter now.’ She pulled out a ribbon from under her dress, and unhooked a small silver key. ‘Look under the bed.’