Hue and Cry

by Shirley McKay

  ‘Because, sir,’ the boy had begun to hesitate, ‘I walked here from St Monans, and I had no boots. The shoemaker said it was a fine thing for a fisher boy to go to the university, and if he had a son, sir, he would wish to send him too. I think, really, he gave us the shoes out of kindness.’

  ‘Did he indeed? Now tell me, who has taught you Latin grammar? Is there a school is St Monans?’

  ‘Yes, sir. At the minister’s house.’

  ‘And who pays the minister to school you? Does he do it for kindness? Or does he take fish?’

  Hew could hear Duncan Stewart sniggering behind him. He turned round to glare. The boy appeared confused. Then he brightened. ‘But I have testimonials from the minister.’

  Sighing heavily, Gilchrist consulted the paper. ‘Yes. He makes good report of your morals and character. You’re well versed in grammar. But you see, William Collins,’ and he wagged a playful finger, ‘we can’t give bursaries to boys whose fathers have the means for schools and shoes. You must explain to your father that if he cares to work a little harder, and will meet the terms, you may enrol here as a scholar. I should warn, though, we do not take fish.’ He gave a genial smile.

  ‘But . . . am I not to take the examination?’

  ‘No point.’ His tone changed abruptly and leaning forward, he said sternly, ‘let not the bursars’ places be diverted to the rich, for would you take provision from a poor but worthy man?’ To the others he said in explanation, ‘Not eligible,’ and bid Duncan Stewart make note of the same. Hew stared, incredulous, at Giles, who began to frown as Gilchrist called, ‘Next boy.’

  The third and youngest applicant, after an intervention by Giles Locke, was allowed to proceed to the examination. This was conducted by Robert Black, and consisted of the reading of a random text, here chosen from the Georgics, for analysis of grammar, shape and sense. The boy began well, and was into his flow when Gilchrist said suddenly, ‘Do I not know you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I know you, I think. Were you not with some boys who threw stones at myself and the magistrands once on the links? Don’t you know the boy, Duncan? Was it not he?’

  ‘I believe that it was, sir,’ answered Duncan.

  Giles muttered something in Latin, beyond the boy’s sphere. The boy began to feel panic, but tried for recovery. ‘You are mistaken, sir. I do not play on the golf links.’ He remembered the boy with the shoes, and said cunningly, ‘For I have not the wherewithal to buy the ball and clubs.’

  ‘Then I have seen you somewhere else, and up to no good, for I never forget a bad face, and I never,’ the master leaned over him, raising his voice, ‘forgive an ill deed.’

  ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Robert Black grimly. ‘Read on.’

  The boy sensed that the masters were angry. Two were talking, too quickly, in Latin. Their voices were raised. The regent with the book turned round to glare at them, and they fell silent. Now all of them were looking at him. He tried to go on. He had continued for a line or two, and had begun to gain confidence when the principal slammed his fist on the table and thundered out, ‘In truth, I have discovered you.’

  The other man roared out intolerantia, as like a bairn he blurted, ‘Ye canna hae though for I wisna there,’ and to his great shame, he dissolved into tears.

  ‘I can see, after all, that I may be mistaken,’ Gilchrist allowed, very gently. ‘But you know, at the university, we expect our scholars to be able to argue the case. Think, boy, how would it be if men of law wept in the courts? It would never do. Also, though I scarcely like to mention it, we cannot permit of the tongue that you speak. I fear these young scholars,’ he confided to his colleagues, ‘so far have shown no aptitude in disputation.’

  There followed an adjournment, brusquely demanded by Giles, while the masters retired to a corner and whispered together, after which Doctor Locke himself came to the boy and inquired of him kindly, whether he would like to take the test again. He answered, he would not.

  The fourth supplicant, following this interlude, was the boy from Holy Trinity, and the minister stepped up with him to the bench. He was, he said, Thomas, named Burns, for on Kinness Burn braes he was discovered a foundling, brought up by the parish since his infancy, fed and schooled and clothed at their expense. He was a pupil at the grammar school, where he had shown exceptional ability. In the hope of sating the boy’s hunger for learning, the minister had taught him the rudiments also of Hebrew and Greek. This was impressive, for the Hebrew tongue was not then taught within the university. Robert had opened his Vergil when Gilchrist stayed his hand.

  ‘Perhaps we might try young Thomas with Homer, since he is proficient in the Greek. Have you The Iliad here?’

  The minister protested, ‘He has the basic grammar, scarcely more.’

  The boy himself lifted his eyes and said bravely, ‘I am only a beginner, but I should like to try it.’

  Robert gave an encouraging smile. ‘Read us a little, and if you can turn it into Latin, we shall be pleased to hear it.’

  The boy took the book, and bravely enough he read out the Greek, before turning the verse into Latin.

  ‘Well then, enough,’ broke in Gilchrist. ‘You are not here to give a lesson, Master Black.

  Thank you for your patience, sir,’ he nodded to the minister. ‘You may have our answer by and by.’

  ‘Are we not to have it now?’ the churchman asked him bluntly,

  ‘As you can see, there are still other scholars in line.’

  ‘Then am I to infer that some of them will presently be bursars?’

  ‘You may infer what you will, but no decisions will be made until we hear the rest. Good day to you.’

  Hew Cullan smiled at the boy, ‘That was prettily done. I thought you read well. If you came into my class, I should be glad to have you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He blushed a little. ‘I should be glad to come.’

  ‘Why did you say that?’ Gilchrist protested to Hew as the boy turned away. ‘I may remind you, Master Cullan, yours is not the class in question. You needlessly raise the boy’s hopes.’

  ‘How so, needlessly?’ inquired Hew. ‘You cannot intend to deny him. He far exceeds the standard.’

  ‘I agree. Tis a consideration. He may overshadow the other men, put them off their stroke. I do not say no, understand me, but we must give a careful notice to his character. I fear he lacks humility, which is essential in a bursar. I suspect the influence there of the schoolmaster, a most forward sort of man.’

  Giles had come dangerously close to him. ‘I have witnessed these proceedings, sir, with increasing abhorrence, and I may say that I intend to make report of them before the chancellor. This is not, as you must be aware, a true interpretation of the bursars’ charter. That boy, and no doubt several others here, are worthy of election. I suspect you of prejudice, sir, that you fill up their places with sons of the rich.’

  ‘That is a serious charge.’

  ‘Then let it be proved. We shall examine all the intrants like for like, both scholars and bursars, and if we find ten bursars who surpass ten of your scholars, then according to the statutes, let them take their place.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Gilchrist easily, ‘they shall never submit to it. Pax, we must put it to vote. What say you to the foundling Thomas Burns? Shall we offer him a place, Master Cullan?’

  ‘I say aye.’

  ‘Doctor Locke?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Master Black?’

  ‘Abstention’

  ‘How droll you are, Robert. Do you wish the boy as bursar in your class or no?’

  ‘In truth, I should like to include him. In conscience I feel I must not.’

  ‘Don’t play the fool now,’ hissed Hew, but Robert stood stubborn.

  ‘Well, we may go by your conscience,’ Gilchrist said smoothly.

  ‘You may go by my answer, sir. I have abstained.’

  ‘As you will.’ Gilc
hrist shrugged. He called to the magistrand. ‘We have a difficulty here. I find I cannot do without the other regents. Hurry to their room, pray, and explain the situation. Bid them come and join us. While we’re waiting, gentlemen, we may perhaps inspect the other candidates.’

  No one had quite the heart for it. Hew glowered at Robert, who did not meet his eye. Giles Locke took to reading a book. Eventually, the interviews concluded and the magistrand returned. He had found no trace of Samuel Ross, while Guthrie, in his nightshirt, begged to be excused. His gumboil had tripled in size. If it pleased them, he would place his vote by proxy, as against the foundling boy from Kinness Braes. Giles offered, somewhat viciously, to seek the fellow out and lance his boil. But Gilchrist gave a smile. ‘Two for, one against, and one abstention. We may I reckon Samuel Ross, being in absentia, to have cast his vote upon my side. As principal . . .’

  ‘And you force this,’ Giles Locke cautioned, ‘I must take it to the chancellor.’

  Gilchrist studied him with grave indifference. ‘Since you mention the archbishop, I must warn you, he has spent the last few years abroad, and has had no concern with our affairs. I wonder you are so belligerent. For did I say I had decided to refuse the boy? On the contrary, I propose to award him the bursary. As for the charge of prejudice, I can assure you, nothing could be further from my mind. To prove it, I shall place him in the care of a young friend of mine, who may have much to learn from him. He is newly arrived, and the son of an earl.’

  Hew glanced at Robert, who shook his head hopelessly.

  ‘You hurt me, Doctor Locke,’ their principal went on, ‘and you have caused offence here in my college, where I count you as a guest. I must warn you I hold it amiss. I am, as Master Black will testify, a reasonable man, but be assured you will not like me as an enemy. Good day to you.’

  ‘I am assured,’ Giles countered testily to Hew, ‘I do not like him as a friend.’

  Controversies

  Outside the college, Hew gave voice to a stream of expletives, evenly distributed between the ancient and vernacular. He kicked at the scattering leaves. A small group of students gazed at him curiously. One ventured, ‘Salve, magister.’

  ‘Salve, salvete,’ Hew muttered savagely, ‘damn.’ Giles suppressed a smile and took his arm.

  ‘Let us vent our spleen a little further from the gate. Walk with me a while. We’ll find a cookshop.’

  They bought spiced pastries from the baker in the marketplace and ate them on the sands like truant schoolboys, sucking beads of sugar from their sleeves.

  ‘Come and see Nicholas,’ suggested Giles. ‘I left him with Paul.’

  ‘I wonder, was that wise?’

  The doctor laughed. ‘Your sister came to nurse him yesterday, and Paul and I were wranglers for the place of best relieved. Poor Paul! If he had glimpsed the devil, he could not be more afeared. We neither of us speak of it, and I, for my part, have made no mention of his rude transgressions. I notice he avoids my books. I bid him, all the while with most sweet and gentle courtesies, to do me this and that, and this and that he does without demur, always providing that I do not ask him to be left alone with Nicholas. The answer then is no; I may not count it wise, and yet I know of no alternative unless your sister stays.’

  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 limb
s?’

  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.’