Fate and Fortune

by Shirley McKay

  ‘Properly, of course, it is a fish day, and yet I think it possible to be too nice about such things. Your brother Giles, for certain, is quite exercised upon the benefits of meat.’

  ‘Aye,’ Hew allowed grimly, ‘on that, at least, he is always unequivocal.’

  Eleanor had served the rabbits, one fat and roasted, with his belly stuffed with herbs, the other stewed and jointed in a broth. In spite of the dark, meaty fragrance, Hew found little appetite. He pushed a listless fork around his bowl. Richard watched him closely. ‘Do we have more bread?’ he asked his wife, ‘to soak up this liquor? It is a shame to waste it.’

  ‘We may want it for tomorrow,’ Eleanor replied, ‘I will have to ask the maid.’

  ‘Are we become so frugal, that we cannot have fresh bread?’ Richard said, a little sharply.

  ‘Tomorrow is the Sabbath,’ Eleanor reminded him. ‘I will see what I can do.’

  ‘And was there not a bottle left of good canary wine, locked up in the laich house? Do not send the lass. I do not trust her with the key,’ Richard added pointedly.

  ‘Aye, very well,’ sighed Eleanor. ‘I’ll go and look.’

  ‘She will be gone a while,’ Richard winked at Hew. ‘I finished it last week. Sometimes she is slow to take the hint. Now, I know you well enough to know that there is something on your mind, and you know me well enough, to trust that you can talk to me. Was it something in the letter?’

  ‘Aye, it was.’ Hew took out the paper and handed it to Richard. ‘It is from Walter Balcanquall. He has heard from John Knox.’

  ‘Then it is no wonder you are so disturbed,’ Richard quipped. ‘When Balcanquall begins to summon forth the dead, we all must be afraid.’

  Hew did not smile. ‘Ah, not that John Knox. John Knox is the minister of the parish kirk at Lauder. I asked Balcanquall to write to him, and several ministers along the London road, for news of Marten Voet. Voet has been apprehended, on the old Roman Dere Road, near Lauder, and is held in the kirk steeple there.’

  ‘Aye, so I see,’ Richard read the letter. ‘But that is good news, is it not?’

  ‘They will not keep him long, without good cause to hold him. I must go there tomorrow, to explain the charge,’ said Hew.

  ‘Then why so sad? At last you have the villain in your hands, and may have your justice for those two poor murdered lasses, that has meant so much to you. Surely, you do not still have a qualm for Marten Voet?’ Richard reasoned.

  ‘In truth,’ admitted Hew, ‘it is no more than vanity. I am unhappy that I got it wrong.’

  ‘Well then, put it right,’ his friend encouraged him. ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘At first light. I will take Giles with me, to support my claim.’

  ‘That’s fair enough. Now that the trial is done, you can happily be spared for several days.’

  ‘As to that,’ Hew said seriously, ‘I still have fears for Christian and her child. However, I have moved them to a place of rest, where they may be safe while I am gone.’

  ‘Aye, very sound,’ Richard nodded. He helped himself to the last portion of the rabbit. ‘Are they at the west port, with your sister?’

  ‘No, that would not do. Meg is quite worn out. She is not suited to the dizzy turmoil of a child. I have found a better place, where Christian feels at home: her childhood cottage, at the foot of Carlton crags.’

  ‘I think that very apposite. Then you can catch your villain, with a clear and open conscience,’ Richard said approvingly.

  ‘That is what I hope,’ admitted Hew. His sprits did not lift, and he said little else before Eleanor returned, with a barley bannock and a bottle on a tray. ‘No manchet loaves, and no canary wine, but I have found some claret.’

  Richard seized the bottle, blowing off the dust. ‘Now this is rare indeed! I had it from a merchant who avoided import duties. I had quite forgotten it!’

  As Richard and his family came to church that Sunday, Hew walked east along the Cowgate to the house of Doctor Dow. The doctor and his wife were already gone to kirk and Hew was met by Giles, in a strange array of clothes, suggesting some peculiar experiment. ‘Is it ready?’ Hew inquired.

  ‘Doctor Dow’s good wife has made what you required. And we have tried it out, as best we can,’ Giles confirmed. ‘Will you change here?’

  Hew nodded briskly, taking off his coat. ‘God willing, it will not be put to test.’

  ‘I pray not,’ Giles answered seriously. ‘Are you quite sure about this?’

  ‘Not sure at all. Indeed, I hope I am wrong. Were they delivered safely?’ Hew asked anxiously.

  ‘I took them there myself,’ Giles assured him. ‘And Meg went too, for company. You were quite right about the people, Hew. I cannot overstate the kindness they have met there.’

  ‘And you told no one where they are? Not even Phillip?’

  Giles snorted. ‘Especially not Phillip, who made himself most disagreeable. I told no one, and I swear that no one followed us. I would not have left them had I thought there was a risk. Hew … I cannot let you go alone.’

  Hew was silent for a moment. Then he said quietly, ‘You know I understand the risk, and have taken all precautions. This is something that I have to do alone.’

  ‘I understand you feel responsible. But Meg would not forgive me, if you came to harm,’ protested Giles.

  ‘I cannot take you with me, Giles. For you are scarcely inconspicuous. Whatever are you wearing?’

  ‘My dissecting outfit,’ Giles admitted. ‘It is the matter of a moment, though, to change.’

  ‘Peace, Giles, I am gone,’ smiled Hew. ‘You have not seen me.’

  ‘Take Paul,’ his friend insisted. ‘He is armed, and primed, and somewhat drably dressed.’

  ‘Aye, very well,’ conceded Hew at last.

  ‘Is it some sort of espionage?’ Paul inquired excitedly.

  ‘Something of the sort,’ Hew answered wryly. ‘Can you bring a tinderbox? The cottage has been has been empty for some months, and may be cold and dark.’

  They made their way up to the netherbow, where they turned north to Calton hill. The servant chattered on the way. ‘Is there likely to be bloodshed, sir? In faith, I am prepared for it. My work with Doctor Locke has overcome my squeamishness. I am not that callow boy that you once knew.’

  ‘I am relieved to hear it. But I hope there will be no cause for the spilling of blood. What is required here is caution, Paul, and vigilance, and above all quietness,’ Hew warned him. ‘Can you hold your tongue?’

  ‘I can sir, and I will, sir. I can be silent as the grave, and hot irons would not force your secrets from me. The doctor’s work is close, and confidential. He has taught me … oh!’ Paul caught the drift. ‘You wish me to be quiet, now, sir?’

  ‘That is the gist,’ Hew confirmed. ‘I wanted space to think.’

  ‘Then I can be quiet, as the smallest mouse.’ Paul said confidently.

  They had come to the cottage, on the outskirts of the Flodden wall, and Hew unlocked the door.

  ‘What should I do, sir?’ Paul asked, in a loud stage whisper. ‘Do I stand and watch?’

  ‘Aye, a little further off.’ Hew looked around. Behind the cottage ran the ruin of the old town wall. ‘Crouch there,’ Hew instructed, ‘and keep watch.’

  ‘Aye, that I will,’ Paul accepted eagerly. Then he hesitated. ‘What is it I am watching for?’ he wondered.

  ‘To see if anyone comes in,’ Hew answered patiently.

  ‘And if they do, I should pounce on them, and prick them with my blade?’ suggested Paul.

  ‘No, you should do nothing,’ Hew assured him, ‘until I give a sign.’

  ‘Aye, very well. But what sort of sign?’

  ‘I know not – a whistle. I will whistle if I want you, Paul. Unless you hear the whistle, do not show yourself.’

  ‘Aye, well and good,’ the servant answered happily. ‘What tune will you whistle, sir?’

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ Hew swore, and checked himself. ‘No
tune. Just a whistle, long and low, like this.’ He gave a long low whistle, and Paul nodded, satisfied. ‘We should practise it indoors, in case I do not hear.’

  ‘No, we should not,’ retorted Hew. He pushed Paul firmly in his place behind the wall. ‘If you do not heed the whistle, I shall scream.’

  Hew entered the house and let the door close behind him, leaving the key in the lock. He left the shutters closed, and lit the lamp, looking through the rooms. The cottage had been empty over winter, yet the doors were solid and the walls and windows watertight, the place was clean and dry, beneath a layer of dust. The light oak furniture, half tester bed and press, were scaled to fit, and the fabrics of the bed were finest silk, out of keeping with a small and modest house. The entrance hall led back into a second chamber, with a kitchen and a closet below stairs. The cottage backed on to a long strip of land, sloping to the hills, and flanked with plum and apple trees, the new leaf already in bud. A chicken coop, and garden beds of vegetables and herbs, were visible beneath the straggling weeds; a secret garden hidden in the hills, a stone’s throw from the bustle of the town. A meeting place for lovers, Hew thought bitterly. It was cold in the cottage, and he lit a fire, trailing smoke against the pale blue sky. He sat thoughtful in the gloom, prepared to wait. It would be a while yet, for the sermon at the kirk had just begun. So he did not expect the rapping at the door. He started to his feet. It was doubtless Paul, he reassured himself. Then he heard the rattle of the lock, and a voice calling loudly, ‘Christian, are you here?’

  Hew cursed as he climbed the low steps from the kitchen, throwing open the door into the hall. Full square on the hearth, glaring and glowering, stood Phillip.

  Without pausing to speak, Phillip lunged at him. Hew was prepared, and caught him with a blow upon his shoulder that send him staggering against the wall. As he stood up again, Hew drew his sword. ‘I do not recommend it,’ he said coldly.

  Phillip rubbed his shoulder, sulking like a bairn. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded.

  Hew ignored the question. ‘How did you know to come here?’ he returned.

  ‘Christian told me. This was her home as a child.’

  ‘Aye, I was afraid that she might tell you,’ Hew admitted. ‘Therefore it is fortunate they are no longer here.’

  ‘Villain! Where is she?’ screamed Phillip.

  ‘Don’t you mean, where are they? Did you forget little William?’ Hew taunted. ‘Or does he not fit with your plan?’

  ‘I will kill you,’ swore Phillip.

  ‘How do you mean to do that? When you are unarmed, and I have a sword? With which, I can assure you, I am quite adept.’

  ‘You think you are so very subtle,’ Phillip sneered, ‘That you can have and hurt her, when you do not even want her, that you can have her at your beck and call. Be assured, you swingeour, that she is not yours.’

  ‘You are mistaken, if you think I make a claim to her,’ Hew countered coldly.

  ‘I know you don’t,’ said Phillip. ‘That makes it all the worse.’

  Hew sighed. ‘It is infernal luck, to set a snare and catch a rabbit, when I want the fox,’ he remarked. ‘Phillip, you can see that Christian is not here. Now go away, or I will have to hurt you.’

  There was a sudden clatter at the door, and the servant Paul appeared, alarmed and breathless. ‘I went off for a piss, and missed your whistle. Is all well?’

  Hew groaned aloud. ‘God’s truth! Are you armed, Paul?’ he asked wearily.

  ‘Aye, sir, armed and ready.’ Paul drew his dagger with a flourish.

  ‘This man is not wanted here. May I trouble you to take him back to town?’

  Phillip scowled. ‘Since Christian is not here, I’m going anyway. There’s no need for that.’

  Paul looked disappointed. ‘Then the danger is averted, sir?’

  ‘Aye, then, it is,’ agreed Hew. ‘If you will see him out of sight and earshot, I shall have no further need for you. Stop to talk to no one on the way.’

  He watched as Paul escorted Phillip from the house and prodded him, protesting, down towards the water port. Having dealt with these distractions, Hew settled down to wait.

  It was several hours before he heard the lifting of the latch, and the visitor at last came in, so quietly that he thought perhaps it was the wind. The shutters were still closed. Hew had allowed his lamp to burn out, leaving only the soft smudge of candlelight in the corner by the window and the last sooty embers of the fire. He listened, taut among the shadows. The visitor removed a bundle from his back, and slid it softly to the floor. He stood for a moment, considering. Then he took the candle from the sill and let it cast its light around the room. Hew stepped out into its glow. ‘They are not here.’

  ‘Aye, so I see,’ the answer came soft, with a trace of amusement. ‘And yet you sit here in the dark. May we light the lamp?’

  ‘By all means.’ Hew took the flame and applied it to the lamp. He held the lantern high to show his face.

  Richard smiled wryly. ‘Not gone to Lauder, Hew? Then what about the letter?’

  ‘The letter was a forgery, written by Giles Locke.’

  ‘How singular. Your brother has become adept in forgeries, I think.’

  ‘I doubt he has,’ Hew agreed. ‘He learned his trade from you.’

  ‘Then I suppose the minister at Lauder isn’t called John Knox?’

  ‘Curiously, he is,’ admitted Hew. ‘I have learned, also from you, that the best way to lie is to build the lie on truths. I did go to Balcanquall, and he did write to Lauder, though his friend John Knox has not replied. But Balcanquall was helpful to me in another way. He told me Catherine’s poems were brought to him by you. He said that you had had them from a friend, though he was somewhat shy of breaking confidence. He is a proper man.’

  Richard grimaced. ‘Never trust the kirk, Hew.’

  Hew ignored this. ‘So I did not care to leave Christian on her own.’

  ‘That I understand. I felt the same.’

  ‘Ah, did you now?’

  ‘And so I resolved to look in on them, on my way to the tennis court,’ Richard said smoothly. ‘May I inquire where they are?’

  ‘Far from here.’

  ‘You are secretive indeed,’ noticed Richard, smiling. ‘Yet we were once so close. Is there no one that you trust?’

  ‘Certainly, not you,’ acknowledged Hew.

  ‘Surely, you do not suspect me, on the word of Walter Balcanquall? Well then, that’s a pity.’ Richard made a move towards his bag. ‘For I thought that we were friends.’

  ‘Why did you have to come here?’ Hew asked him softly. He could not mask the note of sadness in his voice.

  ‘Much like yourself, I wanted to make sure they were quite safe.’

  ‘And what is in your bag?’

  Richard stared at him. ‘My tennis things.’ Suddenly, he laughed, and opened up his sack. ‘Racquets for the caichpule, apples, and a knife. The apples, I confess, were a present for the child. I thought that he might like them. Was I wrong?’

  ‘You sent apples to the house.’

  ‘I know that Giles insists they are the devil’s shitting potion, but you cannot think I meant to harm the bairn,’ objected Richard, buckling up his bag. ‘You have read too many nursery tales. Now, I should like a game, before it grows too dark. Since I have no partner, will you play with me?’

  Hew blew out the lamp. ‘You wish to play a game of chases,’ he said slowly.

  Richard smiled indulgently. ‘I do.’

  A Game of Chases

  Patrick Fleming’s caichpule had been built into a courtyard overlooked in every sense, enclosed by lands and tenements that turned their backs upon an accidental space. Within this space, a timber frame was lined with panels painted black. The caichpule was left open to the elements, to make the best use of the light. A gutter in the centre of its floor allowed collected rainfall to escape into a drain, channelled to the entrance of the close. The steep slope was levelled, to fall gently to the c
entre from both ends, and the floor was paved with stone. It was smaller than the courts that Hew had played upon in France, perhaps seventy feet long, by twenty feet wide, running slightly angled, north to south. The tenements that flanked it on all sides extended far above the penthouse roofs, and kept high curving services from landing in the street. Of the surrounding lands, only Robert Fletcher’s on the south side had windows that looked out onto the court, with a small timbered gallery high above the service end recklessly exposed to flying balls.

  Since it was the Sabbath, both the court and Fletcher’s gallery were closed. Richard led Hew through a passageway in Patrick Fleming’s close, opening to the caichpule from the west. He unlocked a little doorway in the galleries, upon the penthouse side, and locked this door behind them as they entered, securing the key in his pocket. At first he did not speak, but strode out to the centre of the court to inspect the net, a loose rope strung with tassels, hanging to the floor. The trough beneath the net was clean and dry, for it had not rained for several days. This inspection complete, Richard opened up his bag and removed a pair of racquets, which he examined thoughtfully, before handing one to Hew. ‘I always play with racquets,’ he remarked. ‘I never have much cared to use my hands.’

  At the other side of the net, the caichpuler had left a large basket of balls, covered with a canvas cloth. Richard removed the cloth and inspected the balls with the same exaggerated care he had focused on the racquets, before he made his choice.

  ‘I wonder,’ he reflected next, ‘what should be the stakes?’

  ‘The stakes are high,’ Hew assured him.

  Richard smiled. ‘Incalculably. May I propose,’ he went on politely, ‘that we spin your sword, to determine who has service? Then, for safety’s sake, we’ll place it in the trough, for fear that you may fall on it, in the Roman style. And against that same risk, I shall lay down my dagger.’

  Cautiously, Hew removed his weapon, handing it to Richard, who spun it lightly on the court. The handle fell to Hew, upon the service side.

  Richard bowed. ‘There you have won the advantage.’ He placed his dagger in the dip below the net and Hew placed his own sword beside it, stepping back to take his serve. The court was a simple jeu quarré with four winning openings on the service side, and a wooden ais or target strip behind him to the left, and a grille upon the hazard side, which Richard stood defending. The floor was drawn with lines to mark the chases.