Authors: Margaret Skea
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Historical Fiction, #Scottish
‘Hugh!’ If he had any doubts of his welcome, they were gone immediately. She was on her feet and spinning in his arms.
‘I didn’t know whether to expect you or not. Patrick thought . . . Oh, Hugh.’
‘Don’t mind me!’ Patrick pretended affront.
‘Grizel’s inside with Robert’s wife Jean. I couldn’t settle and she got fair peeved with my pacing. Patrick, tell her Hugh is come.’
‘You see?’ Patrick shook his head at Hugh. ‘Your wife has become a tyrant in your absence and now you’re home, will no doubt rule you also.’
Elizabeth’s breathing slowed as she tugged Hugh towards the shade of the walnut tree. ‘You have another lady to greet . . . I have called her Kate.’
Hugh bent over and pulled back the blanket from the child’s forehead, revealing a soft down of hair that lay in damp wisps. He sounded disappointed. ‘She isn’t fair.’
Elizabeth laughed, a mixture of relief that it was not the babe’s sex that troubled him and amusement. ‘We can’t tell the now. Fair or dark, they don’t usually keep their
first hair.’ She edged the blanket down still further and turned Kate’s head to the side. ‘Look.’
He saw the few tufts that sprouted like mis-sown grass, the bald patches like thumbprints on her scalp.
‘What hair she had is coming away fast, but I don’t think she’ll be bald for long.’ Elizabeth took hold of his forefinger and stroked it across the baby’s crown so
that he felt the tiny spikes of new growth, so fine and fair that they were almost invisible. ‘Here.’ She lifted the babe, the blanket trailing on the ground and placed her in his
outstretched arms. He stood stiff, his shoulders hunched.
‘Not like that.’ She rearranged him so that Kate’s head lay in the crook of his elbow, his forearm stretched out underneath her, the long skirt of the cream smocked gown
flowing over his finger-tips. She curved his other arm so that his hand rested against the side of the babe’s face. He stood as if he feared to breathe, watching the slight flutter of the
babe’s eyelids and the scarcely visible rise and fall of her chest. A door closed behind them as Grizel and Patrick, arm in arm, came across the grass.
‘Relax, Hugh, she isn’t made of eggshells.’ Grizel enclosed him and the child both in a tight hug.
Perhaps sensing the commotion, Kate stirred, rubbing her cheek against Hugh’s hand and opened her mouth in a wide yawn, displaying two tiny teeth. She nuzzled his thumb, her mouth pursed,
then failing to find milk, began to whimper. He hastily held her out to Elizabeth.
‘There’s no doubting whose daughter she is at feeding time, for she’s hard to fill and with no patience at all.’
‘I shall have to acknowledge her then.’
Grizel settled herself on the stone bench. ‘I have so many questions but . . . I daren’t ask the now else you will have it all to tell again over supper.’
‘Which won’t be long in the coming, I trust.’ Patrick leaned against the trunk of the walnut tree, idly pulling at a cluster of blossom than hung from a low branch.
‘Not soon enough, if we are to save the chance of fruit. Between you and Elizabeth, we will be lucky if the garden isn’t destroyed altogether.’
Patrick released the branch and it sprung upwards, shedding petals in all directions.
‘Whatever I am blamed for can wait.’ Elizabeth beckoned from the doorway. ‘We are bid to an early supper. The bairn will sleep now, for an hour or two at least. And Robert is
as ready as we for news.’
Hugh appeared again early the following morning, poking his head around the door. ‘We have a visitor.’ Grizel sat up straighter in her chair, her hand flying to her
hair, tucking a stray strand under the edge of her coif. He addressed Jean. ‘I didn’t think you would mind if I extended your hospitality to a stranger, though,’ he opened the
door wide, ‘He isn’t a stranger to all.’ He presented Sigurd to Jean and his greeting lacked nothing, either in word, or the length of time he leaned over her hand, but when he
lifted his head, his eyes slid beyond her and found Grizel.
‘The Ivarsens were charged with the bringing of Queen Anne’s carriage.’ Hugh shot a glance of apology at Elizabeth and Grizel. ‘I didn’t know of it until this
morning for they had a wee bit problem with the
Svanen
and replaced it with another ship. It wasn’t one I recognized; else I would have brought him sooner. Forbye I still owe Sigurd a
personal debt,’ his eyes were on Elizabeth, ‘his elder brother made me a firm friend this winter and I like fine to give hospitality to my friends.’
Sigurd lifted Grizel’s hand to his lips, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘The winter is past and I am come.’
Elizabeth stood on tiptoe to whisper in Hugh’s ear.
‘And would have come sooner had I not been charged with waiting the Queen’s pleasure.’
‘No matter. You’re here now. And welcome.’
‘Have you eaten?’ Jean’s hand was on the bell-pull by the fireplace.
‘Sadly, yes. Though it wasn’t the most savoury, it has served.’ He patted his stomach. ‘If I was to eat more now, it would be greed and not need.’
Grizel smiled at the note of regret. ‘There is aye tomorrow. You haven’t any other engagements?’
‘None that can’t be put off. Though it is my intention, while I am here at the Queen’s expense, to extend my trading interests and perhaps establish a base, but there is time
enough for that.’
‘You plan a regular connection then?’ Her face was flushed, the bloom in her cheeks becoming.
‘My thought is monthly, for the summer at least, and after that, if it is found to be profitable, a more permanent presence might be required.’
A pair of magpies chittered in the branches of the walnut tree and Grizel turned her head towards the window.
Sigurd came to stand close, ‘There is a Norwegian rhyme. . .’
‘A Scottish one also.’ She wetted her lips with her tongue.
Jean joined them. ‘Pretty birds. Though aye greedy. If you were to take some bread . . . or at least show our guest the garden. The walnut tree is particularly fine.’
Hugh eavesdropped without shame as they walked down the path towards the foot of the garden, their voices floating upwards.
Grizel said, ‘Your ship’s to come monthly?’
‘Like clockwork, I trust. At the month’s end.’
‘Do you accompany it?’
‘When I can. It is always sensible to keep a close eye, and I shall persuade my brother that the eye be mine.’ He raised a branch of the walnut tree and they passed underneath, Hugh
straining to catch the remainder of his response. ‘He has not the reason to come, having already a wife and family to his credit.’
When they returned to the house, the talk was of the Queen’s entry and the Coronation, the enforced delay.
‘It’s all about money, and a lot of money at that,’ Robert was matter of fact.
‘But they’ve had six months or more in the planning. If the Queen hadn’t been driven to shelter in Norway, it would all have been to do last autumn. Surely they were prepared
then?’
‘Perhaps Elizabeth, but who can blame the burgh for not wishing to spend before they must. They have set aside five thousand merks for the entertainment of our visitors, but it won’t
stretch. James will no doubt be farming them out to all and sundry.’
Jean frowned at her husband, who raised his hand in apology to Sigurd. ‘No offence meant.’
Sigurd shook his head. ‘None taken.’
‘It would be a fine thing to impress James with your readiness to volunteer hospitality, before it is foisted on you.’ Hugh was watching Grizel out of the corner of his eye.
‘Sigurd’s appetite is healthy, but his company is good and may save you from worse.’
Jean tapped Sigurd’s wrist. ‘You are more than welcome to bide with us, and not just as the least of many evils.’
‘Whatever the cause I intend to enjoy our lengthened visit.’ Elizabeth leant back against the settle, ‘It’s little enough excuse we have to be away from
Braidstane.’
‘Can you bide tonight?’ Grizel directed her question at Hugh, but it was Sigurd’s answer she sought.
‘Unlikely.’ Hugh was apologetic. ‘We need James’ permission; and though the outcome isn’t in doubt, it’s getting the chance to speak to him that is the
problem. The world and his uncle crowd him with issues that, were I to be uncharitable, I might term trivial. It is a high price he pays for his absence. And that aside from the Danish envoys
pressing daily for the inspection of the dowry and the Coronation arrangements. Even Maitland at his most inventive can’t find sufficient excuses to keep them at bay.’ Hugh saw the
disappointment in Grizel’s eyes. ‘But Alexander has promised to speak for us today.’ He stretched. ‘Indeed, we should make for Leith the now.’
Robert followed Hugh’s lead. ‘It’s as well that I make an appearance also, lest James find me tardy, forbye the issue of Ivarsen’s hospitality.’
‘You must all go?’
Hugh bent over the cradle, ‘We can’t spend our days lazing in a Canongate garden Elizabeth, much as we might wish it.’
‘You’ll miss our other guests then.’
‘Who?’
‘Munro and his wife. Patrick bumped into them yesterday in the throng, and they are contracted to visit at noon.’
‘See if you can keep them till supper. I’d like fine to see Munro again and make the acquaintance of his wife.’ Hugh brushed Elizabeth’s head with his lips. ‘The
sooner we go, the sooner we return.’
The dawning of a new day had done nothing to dissipate the awkwardness between Munro and Kate. They rose and breakfasted in almost silence, what little conversation they had
more akin to that of polite strangers than a married couple of nine years’ standing. The spectre of Anna had resurfaced in Kate’s every action and utterance, a shadow that, even had she
tried, she would have been unable to dispel. Afterwards Munro wasted half an hour in search of their landlord, muttering something about the lock mechanism of the main door, while Kate took three
attempts to mend the tear in her gown.
She was pacing up and down, her shawl in her hand when he returned.
‘You’re ready?’
‘We are contracted to go, so go we must. There is little to be gained by delay.’
They continued in silence down the stairs, across the close and through the wynd onto the street. It was almost noon and, in a transparent attempt to regain normality, he took her arm to steer
her through the crowds that pushed and haggled around the booths. Passing a pie stall they were assaulted by the smell of the gravy that dribbled in trails down the outside of the thick crusts.
Munro said, ‘It fair makes me hungry.’
Silence.
‘But I suppose I’d better not eat on the way.’
A fractional lift to her shoulders.
‘I like them, Kate.’ His hand bit into her arm.
‘It’s easy to like. But not always safe. They are Montgomeries.’ Her head was down, her sentences the staccato of controlled anger. ‘What will Glencairn think of your
liking? God knows I am no Cunninghame, but I am married on one and don’t look to be a widow. We have lost one child,’ her voice cracked, ‘and the three that remain don’t
deserve to be orphaned because their father takes a liking that isn’t wise.’
He spoke quietly, as if what he said was reasonable. ‘Give them a chance, Kate. They don’t wish to be our enemies. You could see that. Patrick is. . .’
‘Oh yes. Patrick is.’ For the first time since leaving their lodging she looked at him. ‘Patrick has a way with him. I’ll grant you that. But it isn’t Patrick that
frights me, nor even Braidstane, steady or not. It’s William.’
‘Glencairn can handle William. He and Robert Montgomerie have pledged friendship and have kept to it, these four years past.’
‘Archie wouldn’t swear to that. You heard what he said. And four years won’t wipe away a hundred.’
They had reached the Netherbow Gate and as they passed through she looked about, noting the spacing of the houses, the relative quiet of the street. High above them, a peel of girlish laughter
rolled from a half-open dormer. Kate stiffened.
‘Robert has only boys,’ he said.
She shut her eyes, the bright oval of Anna’s face as she brushed and buffed at the pony’s tackle until it shone, as real as if she stood by her side. She drew in a lungful of air,
one hand pressed against her breastbone. ‘I will do my best to be civil. But don’t expect over much.’