Fate and Fortune

by Shirley McKay

  On Thursday next, unusually, the pattern was reversed, for Richard had some private business in the late hours of the morning, and excused Hew from his office till the afternoon. Hew arrived at Christian’s shop a little after ten, to find the place in sombre mood. Walter and Phillip were both working furiously, while Michael and Christian were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘What has happened?’ Hew inquired of Phillip, who simply replied with a shrug, without taking his eyes from the frame. It was Walter who answered, ‘Christian has dismissed Michael.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ asked Hew.

  ‘He made a mistake,’ muttered Phillip. ‘One of his tricks missed its mark.’

  ‘I should say, rather, it hit it. It was not proper to dismiss him though,’ reasoned Walter. ‘And it was not reasonable. For what are we to do without a week boy? We are hard enough pressed at it is.’

  Hew smiled at the pun, but clearly no jest was intended.

  Phillip warned, ‘Since that is the case, more work, less talk, must be the remedy here.’

  ‘But what has Michael done?’ persisted Hew.

  Walter jerked an elbow to the door of the collating room. ‘Look over there.’

  Pushing open the door, Hew saw nothing amiss. The uncorrected parts of Matthew’s manuscript were stacked in a pile on the table to the right, next to the corrected copy and a stack of folded sheets for Henry Charteris. There was nothing out of place. Then he noticed a small packet on the floor, lying careless in a corner, as though someone had dropped it there, incongruous in the neatly ordered room. He placed it on the table and unwrapped it. Inside he found the carcass of a bird, a blue-black ball of feathers on a brittle stack of bones. A translucent eye protruded limply from its socket. Pinned to the breast was a white scrap of paper, printed with the words ‘Ane corbie messenger.’

  Hew took the parcel back into the printing house. ‘What’s this?’ He dropped the bird on the correcting stone.

  ‘God’s truth, but not on there!’ objected Phillip. ‘The wretched boy has played a trick and Christian has dismissed him for it. He has gone too far.’

  ‘What can he have meant by it?’ asked Hew.

  Phillip shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘He will not admit to it,’ interjected Walter. ‘He claims, the packet was already in the shop, when he came in with the ink this morning. Plainly, he was lying.’

  ‘Is it so plain?’ Hew wondered quietly. He folded the dead crow back in its packet. ‘Where’s Christian?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is not convenient for you to be here,’ Phillip said tersely. ‘We are too busy. And Christian is not well today. She has no time to help you with your father’s book. Go and worry some poor debtor, or whatever else you do.’

  As he spoke, Christian appeared from upstairs. ‘I heard voices. Is something amiss?’ she inquired anxiously. Then she saw the package in Hew’s hands.

  ‘I told the boy to take that with him,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Since he has not done so, Walter must dispose of it.’

  ‘I can take it with me, if you like,’ offered Hew.

  Christian answered coldly, ‘Put it down.’

  ‘I would like to call a meeting,’ Phillip said abruptly.

  ‘Call it now, we are all here,’ Christian replied. ‘And if you can call it without stopping work, then so much the better. We are behind enough.’

  Phillip sighed. ‘If you will leave the work a moment, but to hear me out, it would oblige me. The matter is of some importance.’

  ‘If you would pick up your letter, and go on with it, it would oblige me, Phillip. Or Walter will stand idle, and it will fall to you to make good his losses.’

  ‘This wants reason!’ Phillip countered crossly, ‘though I know the bird upset you—’

  ‘How is that?’ Christian turned on him. ‘A child’s trick! How should that upset me?’

  ‘It should not,’ he told her earnestly, ‘for that is all it was. Michael at his tricks and afraid to own it. He has gone too far. But was it proper to dismiss him, for a childish jape? And besides, we want a week boy. Who will fetch and carry? Let me speak with him, and Walter here will bring him to a state of right contrition. Let him say he’s sorry, and allow him back.’

  ‘I will correct him,’ Walter promised cheerfully, ‘on the correcting stone.’ He winked humorously at Hew, who was sickened.

  ‘You think it was Michael?’ Christian hesitated.

  ‘I am convinced of it,’ Phillip assured her. ‘He is still a bairn, and did not understand that it would fright you. Let me put it right.’

  ‘As you will,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I pray you, do not mention this again.’

  Hew spent the afternoon in conference with Richard, who wanted to discuss the finer points of spuilzie, and the hours passed slowly. But excused at last, while Richard had some business in the court house, he came by the printing house to see the week boy emerge, red-eyed, with the crow held out in front of him, swinging by its feet, like a leper’s bell, or the heretic’s indictment of his sin. On impulse, Hew caught up with him.

  ‘Where do you go with that, I wonder?’

  ‘I am to drown it in the loch,’ the boy mumbled, in a voice suggesting he had not long dried his tears. Not drown it, for tis dead already, but to be rid of it there,’ he corrected, unnecessarily.

  ‘The north loch is foul enough without that, don’t you think? Why not bury it upon the shore. I will help you find a place.’ Hew took advantage of the boy’s hesitation, leaning forward to relieve him of the bird, and walked along beside him till they reached the loch. Michael sniffed a little, but did not demur.

  ‘Here’s a likely spot, now. Make a grave,’ suggested Hew.

  The act of digging seemed to cheer the boy, as it was meant to; and when they had a chasm they judged big enough to hold the bird, Hew placed it in the hole and crossed its wings, with a grave solemnity well-judged to make him grin, in shared and secret sacrilege. Michael smiled a little wanly, and was brave enough to lift the paper from the corpse, and venture timidly. ‘Ane corbie messenger. What does that mean?’

  ‘The raven that Noah sent forth from the ark, in the story of the flood; it signifies false messenger, or one that comes late, or comes not at all.’ Hew looked at him curiously. ‘You did not write it, then?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘I cannot write, sir. Phillip has been teaching me my letters,’ he said simply. ‘But we have little time for it. I can read a little, though,’ he added proudly.

  ‘And you did not kill the crow?’

  The boy looked close to tears. He shook his head. ‘I never saw the bird, before Christian found the parcel. And I never brought the parcel. It was lying in the shop, when we opened up.’

  ‘Then why did you confess to it?’ Hew persisted gently.

  ‘Phillip said I must.’ The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  ‘I think that you like Phillip very much.’

  ‘I admire him, sir. He is teaching me my letters,’ Michael answered desperately, ‘which will help me set good copy. I would wish to be like him, if I can.’

  ‘And you do not like Christian,’ Hew concluded.

  Michael said judiciously, ‘I do not mind her much. She is a woman.’

  Hew laughed. ‘Aye, then, there’s the rub. You do not mind her when you should.’

  ‘How can a woman be master, sir, over a man like Phillip!’ the boy burst out. ‘It is not right!’

  ‘Is that what Phillip says?’

  ‘No, sir. Phillip likes her,’ the boy admitted grudgingly.

  ‘So Phillip told you to confess?’

  ‘Aye, sir, and he said, if I did own it as a jest, he would makes things right with Christian, and I should keep my place. Which he did, sir.’

  Hew did not mistake the pleading in his voice. ‘But surely,’ he said softly, ‘Christian must know you cannot write.’

  ‘We telt her I made copy of the letters from a book, it was a trick to tease her.’

  ‘Then
you have been punished unjustly,’ Hew pointed out.

  The boy shook his head. ‘No, sir, I have kept my place. And had I not confessed, I should have lost my place. Phillip said, I must confess to Christian, or she would dismiss me. He said that it was what she wished to hear.’

  Meeting Richard later at the tolbooth, Hew saw something that eclipsed these strange affairs. Marten Voet the card seller, escorted by two bailies, passed him by the entrance to the turnpike stair.

  ‘What is happening here?’ he inquired of Richard.

  ‘Burgh council business that does not concern us. Nonetheless,’ said Richard thoughtfully, ‘it does involve your printer, in some sense.’

  ‘In what sense?’ Hew asked him urgently.

  ‘In as much as this is one of the unfree printers I was telling you about. He is a maker, not of books, but of playing cards.’

  ‘Aye, I know,’ Hew exclaimed impatiently. ‘What is he doing here?’

  Richard regarded him for a moment, with a look of grave amusement. ‘You are a little forward in your form of question,’ he admonished mildly, ‘If I were you, I’d keep that tone of voice for court.’

  Hew muttered, ‘Pardon,’ barely masking his frustration.

  ‘Granted,’ Richard smiled. ‘It appears he has been brought in for illicit trading. He’s a Frenchmen, if you please! Though it may be hypocritical to judge. My own wife bought a packet of his cards. As I understand, he does a roaring trade. All of which is of no consequence to us; the council will dismiss him with a fine.’

  ‘I know the man,’ repeated Hew. ‘He is not French.’

  Richard, plainly, had grown weary of the argument. ‘French, English, Turk, it’s all the same. If he came here from the Canongate, he still would be a stranger – and, of all the printers, they’re the worse. He came, and made a nuisance, and will presently be gone, as, my friend, will we. There’s work to do tonight.’

  Hew ignored him, crying out, ‘Marten, Marten Voet!’

  The cardseller did not respond. But as he paid his fine and motioned to depart, Hew blocked his way. ‘You are Marten Voet, from Antwerp. We met in St Andrews, at the senzie fair,’ he asserted bluntly.

  Only then did Marten stop to look at him. ‘You are mistaken, sir. My name is Luc Martin, and I am French. I have not been at the fair, nor in the place you mention, but am newly docked at Leith, having come from Rouen.’

  ‘Let the poor man pass, Hew, and be gone about his way,’ Richard called out sharply, ‘unless you want a pack of playing cards. I cannot have you making such a scene.’

  Reluctantly, Hew stepped aside. ‘He is Marten Voet, I’m sure of it,’ he said again to Richard.

  ‘And what if he is? These dustyfutes have many secret lives. They live by their wits. What matters is that they move on, and do not make a nuisance of themselves. Your friend Martin – that I think we may conclude to be his name, with some degree of certainty – has made his moonlight sales and paid his dues.’

  ‘No doubt you are right,’ Hew sighed. ‘I bow to your experience.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Hew! At last you have begun to learn!’ Richard clapped him on the back. ‘You are the most perverse and wayward pupil I have had. Now here are some very dull writs that will keep you busy for the next few days, and leave you no time free for pursuing mysteries.’

  Lines of Inquiry

  Returning home for supper later in the day, Richard and Hew were startled by the rumble of a deep, familiar voice. It seemed to fill the hall, booming from the windows in the upper gallery. Sitting in a gossip chair, in Richard’s favourite spot above the street, was Doctor Giles Locke. Hew’s first thoughts were for Meg, while Richard asked alarmed, ‘Is someone sick?’

  ‘Not at all,’ beamed Giles. ‘I was explaining to your son why it is not well-advised to eat green plums. He has the makings of a fine anatomist.’

  ‘That does not surprise me,’ Richard answered dryly. ‘Roger is the sort of boy who likes to tear the wings from flies.’

  Roger scowled, and the doctor looked taken aback. ‘A little harsh, I think,’ he commented.

  ‘But Giles,’ protested Hew, ‘whatever are you doing here? Has something happened to Meg?’

  ‘Your sister is quite well, though exhausted by the journey. I left her in the lodging house, with Paul. She is under strict instruction to lie down and rest. She does not take too kindly to instruction,’ Giles admitted.

  ‘Like another from her family,’ Richard laughed. ‘Good doctor, you are welcome in my house.’

  ‘Aye, tis good to see you. But what are you doing here?’ persisted Hew.

  ‘Doctor Locke has been explaining to us how our use of fruits impacts upon the humours,’ Eleanor said weakly. Her usual calm politeness seemed a little strained. ‘And why we should not eat green pippins. I sent Grace upstairs, when the narrative became a little too direct.’

  ‘The consequence of poor digestion,’ Giles asserted, ‘cannot be too forcefully impressed upon the young. I have seen a bairn bloat like a hog’s bladder, after a surfeit of pears.’

  ‘We apprehend the risk, and will remember it,’ Richard said politely, ‘when the apple trees are once again in fruit.’

  ‘Now that you are come home, I will take Roger upstairs. Will you stay to supper, Doctor Locke?’ Eleanor offered. ‘We have nothing green.’

  ‘Cowcumbers,’ Giles remonstrated sternly, ‘are by far the worst, to a windy constitution, being cold and wet. Indeed, I thank you, madam, but we are lodged without the city walls, and my wife will be expecting me. I must be gone before they close the gates.’

  ‘A pity, then, another time,’ Eleanor said, evidently relieved.

  Giles bowed to her. ‘I shall look forward to it. I pray you, take no trouble, for a little leg of mutton will suffice. With perhaps an egg or two,’ he added wistfully.

  ‘I will send up some wine,’ Eleanor answered, somewhat at a loss. ‘Come, Roger, let’s go and find Grace.’

  Roger resisted. ‘I should like to stay. Doctor Locke was telling us of hard fruits in the belly. They are very cold and windy, and corrupt the blood. I especially liked the part,’ he said to Giles, ‘about the stinking vomits and the flux.’

  Giles gave a little cough, ‘Ah yes, good boy, go to,’ he murmured awkwardly.

  ‘Aye, Roger, go, this is men’s talk,’ Richard said impatiently. Roger glowered at him as he allowed his mother to escort him from the room.

  ‘Giles, for the last time, what’s your business here?’ demanded Hew. ‘And why have you brought Meg?’

  ‘That is no kind of welcome. I have brought you letters from your man of law.’

  ‘But surely,’ Hew exclaimed, ‘you did not have to bring them here yourself.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ conceded Giles. ‘But I have had no peace from Meg since she read your letter. And since I have some business here in town, we thought to make a journey of it. I am here on a matter which, as Richard well inferred, is not fit for mention before wives and bairns. You will recall, before you left, I found myself much exercised in trying to control the verol – what the vulgar call,’ he said to Richard, confidentially, ‘the Spanish fleas or pox.’

  Richard blanched. ‘I am well glad,’ he muttered, ‘that you concealed your purpose from my wife and children.’

  ‘For which purpose,’ Giles went on to Hew, ‘I have come for conference with my good friend Doctor Dow, who has a practice here on the Cowgate. Doctor Dow is an expert in the morbus gallicus, and our council desired that I should consult with him. So I have taken leave of absence for a while. Your sister has been most vexatious, and would not be left behind. As I understand,’ he turned to Richard, ‘the disease is as rife in Edinburgh as it is across the water.’

  ‘So I am told,’ Richard answered seriously, ‘and the worst is in the Canongate, where the gudemen cannot keep their tails within their breeks.’

  ‘Quite so,’ murmured Giles.

  ‘How long do you mean to stay here?�
�� Hew inquired.

  ‘As long as it will take for me to conclude my inquiries, and for Meg to recover from the ride. Though, I should say, we made a good journey. We came from Pettycur to Newhaven, and found a smooth crossing, that passed without incident. Now I have taken rooms in a tavern on the outskirts of the city, for the town itself is noisome and foul, and not at all convenient for Meg. I fear though,’ he continued fretfully, that once she is rested there will be no staying her, for she will want to see you, and to go to shops and such, and all such silly vanities.’

  ‘More likely she will want to help you in your conference,’ Hew pointed out.

  ‘That is what I fear,’ Giles admitted gloomily. ‘It really would be preferable, that she had stayed at home.’