Macbeth's Niece (16 page)

The face swung around toward her. The woman
was blind, her eyes coated with a milky film. “Not far,” the woman
told her. “This is Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate, and just a bit that way—”
A bony hand pointed the opposite direction Tessa had been heading.
“—are the docks.”

Tessa couldn’t resist, despite the hurry.
“What did you say the street was?”

“Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate,” the old woman
repeated. “It means ‘neither one thing nor the other,’ a long name
for a short street.” She chuckled at the joke, showing toothless
gums. “You are young, are you not?”

“I am,” Tessa answered, then had an idea.
“My name is Tom Thomson, and my father sent me to find my uncle on
the docks and bring him to our house.” If the old woman were
questioned, she would report that no female had passed her resting
place in the sun.

“Well, then, Tom, be off like a good lad and
do what you were told. Boys these days do not mind their elders as
they should.” Without further ado, Tessa thanked the woman and
headed off in the direction indicated. That night she lay hidden in
the rafters of a barn, constantly on guard, but no one came near.
In fact, Cedric’s men didn’t find the fine wedding dress until two
days later, lying under some straw where a cow had stepped on it
and ruined it beyond repair.

Chapter Fourteen

The captain of the Bonnie Blue chuckled to
himself at the greenness of the boy who booked passage on his
little ship. Dressed in oversized clothes that must have belonged
to an older brother, nervously touching the auburn hair that had
been hacked off with no skill whatsoever, the lad was quite
undecided about how to approach him. Finally he stammered out that
he needed to get to Inverness, and would the ship be stopping
there? Of course it would, but the captain made as if thinking hard
about it, wondering how much money the boy had and how much he
could get of it.

“How much have you got, lad?”

The boy opened a small purse at his belt and
spilled out a few coins. The captain, seeing the thinness of the
purse, named a reasonable figure, and the boy carefully counted it
into his outstretched hand. The hands were dirty but very delicate,
with long, slim fingers. There wasn’t much left in the purse after
the fare was paid, but the captain did not know the “boy” had been
clever enough to keep only a few coins in the purse. The rest were
secured in the lining of the clothing.

On the voyage the boy kept to himself,
though he seemed friendly enough when spoken to. He watched the sea
for hours on end, apparently thinking deep thoughts. When one of
the sailors commented that he ate and drank very little, another
responded, “Never takes a piss, either. Wonder where the little
runt keeps it all.” Because they were not men accustomed to
thinking about anything very deeply, that was as far as it went. In
fact, Tessa suffered agonies in disguising her femininity and was
happy for a multitude of reasons when the little ship landed at the
very pier she and Jeffrey had sailed from the year before.

Gathering up the few things she had brought
from Brixton Hall, she wrapped them in her cloak: a few extra
clothes Auntie Madeline had scavenged, the knife and toiletries
Eleanor had given her, and the wooden box, which she’d brought for
no real reason. She’d promised Eleanor she’d give it to Jeffrey,
but both Eleanor and Jeffrey were dead. She’d considered burying it
at Brixton, but she had no intention of ever returning there. She
might have given it to Auntie Madeline but feared it might betray
the love between Eleanor and Jeffrey, which would have diminished
the old lady’s memories of both of them. Madeline claimed Eleanor
had told her everything, but Tessa doubted it, since Auntie
wouldn’t have approved of the affair. She considered reading
through the papers in the box herself and then burning them, but
somehow could not make herself do it. Unsure what to do, she
carried it along, delaying any decision about what should come of
her promise and Eleanor’s last wish.

Not knowing how best to proceed and
wondering how things stood with the household, Tessa went to the
castle kitchen and asked if there was work. The cook declared she
could use a boy if he knew how to work, not like most of the boys
nowadays. Tessa, or Tom, as she named herself, vowed to work hard
and was set to various kitchen tasks. Her childhood ways stood her
in good stead, because her first job was killing and plucking
chickens for the evening meal. After that she watched others and
copied them, managing to satisfy the demands of the first day. When
the evening meal was eaten and cleared, she was allowed a corner to
sleep in. Exhausted from the work and the stress of watching every
word and deed to keep up her disguise, little “Tom” found it no
trouble at all to fall asleep on the rush-covered stones in the
great hall.

Macbeth was not at Inverness. The kingship
made demands on him that kept him at Scone or elsewhere. The
atmosphere in his home was tense, and hardly anyone spoke except
from necessity. Several of the women she’d known before were still
in attendance upon Queen Gruoch, but the lady herself never showed
at dinner the first night or the next. Tessa kept to her disguise,
unsure how to proceed. Something told her not to approach her aunt,
but to wait for her uncle’s return.

The second night she was asleep, again
exhausted from the day’s work, when she was awakened by the sound
of someone speaking. Being the newest member of the household,
Tessa’s sleeping spot was on the floor farthest from the fire and
closest to the entryway, which required vigilance or she might be
stepped upon as people got up in the night to go to the privy.
Opening her eyes, Tessa saw the glow of a candle on the stairs.
Squinting in the darkness, she discerned her aunt, dressed in
nightgown and cap, descending the stairs and mumbling. She couldn’t
make out the meaning of the words but thought she heard the word
“blood,” then some singsong phrases. The look on the lady’s face in
the candlelight was totally blank. She was asleep, unaware of her
surroundings or her behavior.

As Tessa watched, an attendant came and
gently turned her so that Gruoch went back up the stairs, still
muttering. The woman stood aside to let her pass, then followed her
out of sight. Around Tessa several heads had raised at the sounds,
silhouetted in the firelight, but no one said a word, and one by
one the heads sank back into the general shape of the room. It did
not do to take notice of such things.

The next morning she sought out Jamie, a boy
who’d been friendly about showing where things were and how the
cook wanted tasks done. “Is the queen ill?” she asked.

He looked around to see if anyone was
listening. “Best no’ speak o’ it, Tom,” he said. “Her is sick, well
enough, but ’tis sickness o’ the mind, nae the body. They say it’s
guilt for things done sae her husband should come t’ rule
Scotland.”

“You mean—” He shook his head to indicate it
must not be said aloud. “And the king? How does he?”

“He ha’ nae been himsel’ neither, talkin’ to
shadows and rantin’ aboot things we canna see. We pretend along wi’
him or he becooms mae violent.” Jamie passed a dirty hand through
his unruly hair, which returned immediately to its upright
position.

“This is not a pleasant place to be,” Tessa
remarked.

“True enough. Many has left a’ready. That’s
why ye got a job sae quick, though, so ye shud be grateful.” With
that Jamie returned to his own tasks.

After two more days, Tessa feared
approaching either Gruoch or Macbeth. The King had returned to
Inverness in a foul mood, speaking as little as possible, though he
looked every inch a king with his dark, brooding looks and his tall
form clothed in robes much finer than those he had worn as soldier
and thane. Something had changed him. He seemed unable to feel
anything for his wife, ignoring her almost completely.

By day Grouch walked the castle in a sort of
daze. When she saw her husband, she made pitiful attempts to reach
him, caressing his face and holding his arm, but Macbeth seemed
unable to abide her touch. He had no patience for anyone but spent
his time alone with his own thoughts, glaring at walls or mountains
alike. Tessa felt sorry for him, for he had changed greatly in a
year.

Though Cook would scold “Tom” for it, Tessa
went for a walk along the hillside one afternoon, feeling the need
to escape the atmosphere of dread prevalent at the castle. From the
distance she looked back. It was hard to believe how the place had
deteriorated in a year. Although still a handsome edifice from the
outside, things were different inside. Without her aunt’s strict
hand and with as many servants leaving the place as could arrange
it, the hall had become dirty and the remaining help slovenly. The
rushes hadn’t been changed since she left, so the place smelled of
dogs, mice, and decaying food. Only the cookhouse remained fully
functional, and that was due to Cook, who kept her own standards
there but dared not intrude on the main house.

As she walked, Tessa was glad for fresh air.
Spring was extending even to Scotland by this time, and buds and
flowers greeted her on every side. In the year she’d been gone,
Tessa too had become a different person. She had experienced so
much: love, gaiety, grief, and despair. What was left to her? she
wondered. Would she return to the Cairngorms, those beautiful peaks
before her? Would she find a place with her uncle here? Only time
would tell. Sitting down in the open meadow and resting in the
sunshine, Tessa soon felt sleepy, having had little enough rest the
night before in her cold, busy corner.

She didn’t know how long she dozed, but a
sense that someone was there awoke her. Opening her eyes, Tessa saw
the three crones standing before her as they had so long ago,
smiling and nodding as if she’d said something clever. They said
nothing until she spoke to them.

“Well, it seems you were right,” she said to
the first. “I did go to England. How did you know?”

“Question not,” croaked the woman, her
breath causing Tessa to recoil in disgust.

“Her happiness is dead,” grinned the
second.

“Dead but not forgotten,” added the third.
“He has forgotten her name.”

She spoke in the present tense. Someone had
forgotten her, but who? These odd creatures would say what they had
to say, whether she spoke or not, so she merely looked directly at
them to indicate interest.

“He has forgotten much,” said the first
woman.

“And he will remember much.” The third woman
touched Tessa’s arm.

“Look for him where the lands meet.” This
one’s eyes didn’t both look in the same direction, which was
disconcerting, so Tessa didn’t comprehend her meaning right
away.

“Look for him?” As she realized the import
of what she heard, her heart leapt. “For whom should I look?” The
three only grinned stupidly and joined hands, backing away at the
same time. As they retreated, the first one spoke again. “He took
you away, and he brings you back.”

“Please, tell me what you mean. Is Jeffrey
alive?” Taking a step toward them, she tripped over a large stone
and went down on one knee, catching herself with her hands before
she fell all the way to the ground. When she looked up, the three
women were gone, but her mind spun with the message they’d left
behind. Jeffrey Brixton was alive!

Returning to the castle, Tessa decided she
had to speak to her uncle. After the evening meal, she waited in
the passageway until his step sounded on the stairs, heavy and
slow, like that of an old man. She heard him dismiss the attendant
who would have followed him into his chamber to assist with
preparations for bed. Giving the man a moment to be gone, she
peeped around the corner to find Macbeth alone in the hallway that
led to his room. He started when he saw her, and she made haste to
assure him the boy she appeared to be was no threat.

“Sire, a moment of your time. Is there
somewhere we can talk about your family and one you once knew?”

He was distrustful at first, making her walk
ahead of him into a small closet where linens were kept. She had
brought a candle, and she lit a torch that hung on the wall, then
turned to face him in the light. “Look at me, closely, sire. It is
I, Tessa macFindlaech.”

Macbeth squinted at her, then his eyes
widened. “Niece! We thought you dead, drowned in the river.”

“I was captured by my Uncle Cawdor, who sent
me to England so I would not tell you I’d heard him treating with
the Norwegians.”

“England! You’ve been there?”

“Yes. Malcolm Canmore is there, trying to
raise an army against you.”

“I have heard the same. Has he had
success?”

“I fear he has. The English are always ready
to come to Scotland to war, it seems.”

“How did you escape those devils?”

“A kind lady took me in and treated me as
her daughter. She is dead, but another lady gave me the money to
come home. I traveled as a boy for my own protection, then found
work here to wait for your return.”

He nodded. It seemed as they talked that he
became more like his old self, less tense and wild-eyed. His eyes
focused not unkindly as she gave him the details of her capture on
the night of Jeffrey’s visit. Finally he spoke. “It seems you have
managed well despite your troubles. Now what do you want of
me?”

Tessa sighed. It was important he understand
her reasoning, but she couldn’t judge his mood. Macbeth seemed
under control at the moment, but she’d heard of wild rages and rash
actions when he felt someone was against him.

“Sire, I seek a certain Englishman, the one
who came here that night with Cawdor. I know he is not your friend,
but I made a vow I would find him.” The heavy eyebrows lifted, then
lowered threateningly. “I’m sorry, Uncle. The man’s family was kind
to me, and I owe them word of him if I can find it.”