Fate and Fortune (25 page)

Richard rose to his feet.

‘I take it amiss,’ Chapman answered huffily, ‘that you construe my interest so. The truth is,’ he appealed to the jury, ‘that I offered her my help, and the use of my premises, when she was frozen out. Is it widow’s work to run a press? Of course it is not. The work is hard, and not fit for a woman. Least of all, a woman who has lately had a child.’

The jury, stout body of brave men and true, nodded its agreement to a man, and Richard sat back down again. ‘My lord,’ he muttered wearily, ‘but to the matter, now. May we not press on?’

‘Aye, the matter,’ Hew returned. ‘Your expert advice. Tell me, Master Chapman, if you were to print a paper that spoke slander to the king, would you put your mark to it?’

‘The case would not arise,’ Chapman told him loftily.

‘I do not suppose it would. But don’t you think it odd, that Christian Hall, if she did defame the king, would set her name to it?’

‘If and should and were and would,’ Richard mimicked genially, ‘Dear, dear!’

The justice appeared to have fallen asleep.

‘I imagine,’ Chapman replied, ‘that, being a mere woman, she did not fully understand what she was doing. It is one of the hazards of printing, and one of the reasons, of which there are many, that a woman is unsuited to the press.’

There was a murmur of agreement from the jury. Hew realised he had lost them and moved swiftly on.

‘You have given us the benefit of your experience. Pray, will you look at
this
paper, very carefully, and give it to us again. Tell me, do you recognise it?’

Chapman looked at the paper, a little surprised. ‘Aye, that I do. Where did you get it?’

‘That I will come to in a moment. But first, will you tell the jury what this paper is, and how you know it?’

‘It is a proof copy of a notice we printed three or four days ago, for Doctor Laurence Dow.’

‘Then it came from your press?’

‘Aye, it did.’

‘Can you tell the court a little more? What the paper says, and how you came to print it?’

‘I can, for it caused quite a stir. Three or four days ago there came into the shop two physicians, the one was Doctor Dow, that is well known here, and the other one a stranger. They brought with them a notice of some pestilence brought by a sailor to Leith, which they wanted to be copied and distributed throughout the burgh here and in the Canongate. It was most urgent, they said, and must be done at once. Which because we have several presses and one kept standing for proofs, we were able to do straight away, while they waited. Doctor Dow hastened the procedure by reading over the copy to the compositor while he set the text.’

‘Tell me, was it printed copy that they brought to you, or
manuscript
?’

‘It was printed copy, sir, I dare say an old notice, of which there were no more copies.’

‘Even so. Then how can you be sure that this copy I have shown you came from your press, and was not the original notice that the doctor brought to you, or another copy of the same?’

‘Because, as I say, it was a proof copy. Do you see this H sir, in this word? The middle bar is missing, and part of the first leg is gone, so that it looks more like an
i
and an
l
than a capital
H
. The character is broken. Doctor Dow himself remarked upon it, and he said it would not do, for the word could be mistaken. And I was most vexed with the compositor, that he did not spot it, and that it was his carelessness that caused the sort to be broken, for he must have dropped it on its head, for it to be so badly damaged.’

‘What do you do?’ inquired Hew, ‘with sorts that are so badly damaged they may not be used again?’

‘We call them naughty letter, sir, and prise them out, and set them in a tray apart, that they do not find their way back into the cases. And when the tray is full the boy takes it to the foundry to be melted down.’

‘And this was done here?’

‘It was. The naughty letter was removed, and a good one inserted. That is the foul proof you have, sir. Only one was printed. I thought we had disposed of it.’

‘Therefore you can swear it came from your press?’

‘I can, sir, and I do, sir, for I know it did, beyond a doubt.’

‘Because, as you said before, it is not possible that two sorts should break, in just the same place.’

‘As I said before.’

‘Then it would surprise you to hear that the particular notice, which you hold in your hand, was not printed on your press, but on the press of Christian Hall?’

‘It would astound me, sir. It is not possible.’

‘It is not possible. And yet,’ Hew turned to the jury, ‘I can prove it to be so.’

There was silence now. Richard sat straight, listening intently.

‘There is a boy outside,’ continued Hew, ‘Master Chapman’s week boy, who will testify that he destroyed the foul copy you made on your press, on the day you printed it, having no more use for it; and there is a doctor, one Giles Locke, a friend of mine, who presently will testify that he and I did print that paper in your hand, on Christian Hall’s press, on Tuesday afternoon; and if you will come to her shop, I can show you the press, with the forme still in place, and locked in the forme, is the same broken H, and here, in fact, I have another copy,’ he drew out a sheet of paper, ‘and another and another, aye, sir, look, and pass them round, all of them the same.’

‘Is this a question?’ Richard tried. ‘I have not heard a question.’ But he turned a little pale.

‘Here is a question for you, Master Chapman,’ Hew said smoothly. ‘Would you like to know how this was done?’

‘Aye, I would,’ Chapman spluttered.

‘This is how: Doctor Locke and I made a notice warning of the pestilence, on Christian Hall’s press. To emphasise the urgency of this report, we used a great many capital letters. There was another reason for that, as you will shortly see. When we were finished, and the work was printed off, we prised out a letter H, and chipped it with a chisel, and Doctor Locke ensconced it in his pocket. When once the print was dry, Doctor Locke and his good friend Doctor Dow came to your shop, in a great degree of urgency and agitation, requiring copies of the notice to be made at haste. To expedite this task, they stayed to help, as often authors do, though some are more a hindrance than a help. I will leave you to conclude which sort my friends best fit. They stood over the compositor, offering advice as he set out his tray, and while Doctor Dow rattled on about the graveness of the task, Doctor Locke slipped the broken sort into the case, with the nib uppermost, as I had showed him. For in the past weeks I have spent a good deal of time at the printing house, and I have watched the compositor at his work, marvelling at his sleight of hand, and though I lack the skill to do it, I have learned how this is done. And we chose upper case letter, knowing he would have far fewer of them; if we slipped it in his case, then he was bound to take them up, having just enough. And just in case the poor man did notice it was broken, there was Doctor Dow, to hurry and distract him, and suffice to say, he did not notice it, until the proof was made. And when the proof was made, in case you did not notice it, then there was Doctor Dow to make another fuss and point it out. And so the compositor prised it out and dropped it in the naughty tray, where Giles scooped it out and dropped it in his pocket once again. And we took it back to Christian’s press, and put it back into the space where it had been, and printed out these pages, with the naughty H intact. That is to say,
broken
, of course. The forme is still there, if you care to see it.’

Chapman shook his head. ‘I do not understand what all this proves,’ he answered hopelessly. ‘It is just a trick.’

‘Aye. It’s a trick,’ Hew said gently. ‘That is what forgery is.’

Richard stood up. ‘One last question, Master Chapman. Surely, all this trickery cannot have changed your mind. You swore that you were sure, you were quite certain, that the papers I showed you were both from the same press. Surely, you do not retract that.’

‘I … I know not, sir,’ the man confessed miserably. ‘I cannot swear it … for I thought the proof was mine, no, more than that, I
knew
it was … and yet I am proved wrong. In conscience, sir, I cannot swear it; I am feared to swear.’

‘You were so sure … so sure …’ Richard trailed off. ‘Aye, my lord, I’m done,’ he finished curtly.

Hew knew that his opponent was unnerved. Yet the case was far from won. He could not rely on the jury; he feared he had merely perplexed them. As if to illustrate his doubts, the judge leant forward.

‘Master Cullan, I’m a mite bumbaised. Is there some sort of
pestilence
broken out at Leith? Ought we to be alarmed?’

‘No, my lord,’ Hew answered, with a sinking heart. He glanced up at the king, who was grinning, though this scarcely reassured. ‘I
understand
the notices were made as a precaution. Doctor Dow is ever cautious, and he likes to be prepared.’

‘How very reassuring,’ said the justice. ‘Is it dinner time?’ 

When the trial resumed Richard Cunningham called Phillip Ramsay to compear. The compositor appeared so meek and cowed, so broken in demeanour, that Hew wondered what pressures had been wrought to induce him to bear witness for the Crown.

‘You are Phillip Ramsay, compositor, employed by Christian Hall, in her shop upon the hie gate on the south side near the netherbow,’ Richard put to him.

‘I am, sir,’ Phillip whispered, with a hoarse and fearful deference Hew had never heard from him before. He heard it with a sinking heart. He looked for hope and confidence, not this sad dejection and defeat.

‘How long have you worked there?’ Richard asked.

‘For about five years,’ answered Phillip. ‘I was employed by her husband, William Hall.’

‘Then at the time of William Hall’s death, had you completed your apprenticeship?’

‘I had, sir; and was working for him as compositor.’

‘You remained there when he died. Why was that?’

‘The chapel, sir – that’s what we call the printer’s shop – had become my family,’ Phillip answered simply. ‘I would be loath to leave it.’

‘I understand,’ said Richard sympathetically. ‘Now, Master Allan Chapman here has offered his opinion on some papers, alleged to have been printed at Christian Hall’s press. I ask you to do the same. Will you look at these papers, and inform the court whether you have seen them before?’

Richard handed the witness the scandalous tract, and the title page from Matthew’s book, which Chapman had examined in the court that morning. Phillip considered. ‘This I have seen,’ he said at last, holding up the page. ‘It is a proof copy of the title page of a book we are printing, and is taken from our shop. This other,’ he indicated the scandalous tract, ‘I have never seen before.’

‘Look at the devices on each page. Are they quite the same?’ Richard pressed.

Phillip scrutinised them carefully. Finally he owned, with a hint of reluctance, ‘I confess, that they do appear the same.’

‘Very like, or quite the same,’ persisted Richard.

‘I would have to say … the same.’

‘Such as could only have been printed, with the self-same block?’

‘I would say so, aye,’ Phillip said unhappily.

‘I thank you. Then I have no further questions.’

‘If I may keep you for a moment more?’ proceeded Hew. ‘Can you tell us something about the block, which printed the device upon the proof that you identify as coming from your shop?’

‘It is an old wooden block, cut down from one that was used by William Hall. Originally, it had his signature upon the bottom there,’ Phillip pointed with his finger to a line beneath the printed tree. ‘When he died, to save money, we cut off the signature, so that the device would serve equally well for Christian. Christian kept the piece,’ Phillip added poignantly,’ in the hope that one day it would serve again for her son.’

‘Was this block the only one you had made?’ asked Hew.

‘Aye, it was. Since we have only one press, and only one
compositor
, we can set one book only at a time, and scarcely had the need for two. But just recently, Christian has had a fresh one engraved, in copper, for the old wooden block has become too worn to take the ink well. We mean to use the new plate in setting the book – of which this worn one is the proof – that presently is ready for the press … or would be, were we free to print it,’ Phillip added quietly.

‘Then when this proof was made, and Christian saw the impression, she decided that it would not do, and had the fresh plate made?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Then what became of the old plate? Was it cast into the waste tray, with the naughty letter?’

Phillip shook his head. ‘It was made of wood, and could not be melted down. I cleaned it, and returned it to its place. It is kept in the drawer under the correcting stone, because it is not part of any font. I thought it might provide a pattern, or prove useful if the copper plate became scratched. Besides which, William’s signature, that was its other half, remained there still. It did not seem quite proper to throw them both away.’

‘And is it still in that drawer, to this day?’ wondered Hew.

Phillip hesitated. ‘In truth, sir, no. It went missing.’

‘It went missing.’ Hew repeated carefully. His heart leapt at the news. And yet he knew that he must put the proper questions. He could not rely on Phillip. ‘Can you say when?’

‘Not with certainty,’ the compositor confessed. ‘So much has happened lately that more ordinary events have been eclipsed. I can tell you when I noticed it was gone.’

Hew nodded, ‘Aye, go on.’

‘The sequence of events was this. After I had set the proof copy, and we had looked at the proofs, Christian ordered the new plate. That took several days to come. In the meantime, I made the other corrections to the forme.’

‘That would include, for example, taking out the naughty letter and replacing it with good?’ Hew inquired.

‘Aye, that is so. I am afraid we have a good deal of broken letter, for times have been hard since William died, and we cannot afford new, so we have to make the best of what we have. But for this particular book, Christian was most particular to amend its faults as best we could. And so, as far as I was able, I took out the broken sorts.’

‘Then did you put the broken letter in the waste, or redistribute it?’

‘I put it in the waste tray to be melted down. Christian was
determined
to have new. She believed that with the printing of this book we should see our fortunes change. And so we have,’ Phillip said wryly, with a bitter stab at his accustomed wit.

‘And so what happened next?’

‘The new plate arrived, and I began to set the work again.’ Phillip turned towards the jury. ‘The manuscript had fallen into water, and was very hard to read. And the work was going well when we were overtaken by events. Christian’s little son went missing with his
nursemaid
on the muir; the nurse was found dead, and the child was lost for several days. During this crisis, no one did work on the press. But after several days, the child was found, and I returned to work, thinking to make up the time we had lost. Coming to the end of a large section in the copy, I considered that it wanted an embellishment, some sort of flourish, to mark where it closed. Such embellishments, together with strange characters and astrological signs, that are not unique to one sort of letter, are kept together in the drawer, with the printer’s block. When I opened the drawer, I noticed that the printer’s block was gone. It was the largest of the blocks, and had its own place at the front of the drawer, being most frequent in use.’

‘And always it was kept here in its place?’

‘Always. It is not possible to compose, with any degree of accuracy or speed, if everything is not kept in its proper place.’

‘Then you were surprised to find it gone?’

‘I was vexed, sir. For it meant that someone else had meddled with the blocks that only the compositor should touch. But in the event, we did not need the block, and everything else had remained in its place, so I continued with my work, and for a time forgot about it. I was working on the copy when the guards came to arrest us.’

‘A printer’s shop is a very busy place, is it not?’ mused Hew.

‘Aye, sir, it is,’ Phillip agreed.

‘And in the course of a day, several people come and go; and authors come in to check proofs and copy, and customers to place orders, and binders to collect work for binding, and ink makers and paper makers, and messengers who come and go, changing by the week. There is a good deal of traffic, is there not, of fetch and carry, back and forth, and to and fro, on any working day?’

‘There is.’

‘Then it would not be difficult, I think, for any one of these said bookmen, week boys, ink sellers, authors or messengers, if he should choose, to pocket a handful of the naughty letter you had cast into the tray?’

‘Not difficult at all. The sorts would not be missed.’

‘That is interesting. Because I have the tray here, with some naughty letter in it. It was taken from the shop yesterday. Will you take a moment now to look through the tray, and see if you can find the sorts that printed on the title page. The upper case T, and the a and the O?’

‘Aye, sir, but surely—’

‘Pray do as I say.’

Phillip examined the sorts in the tray, turning them over carefully. ‘They are not here,’ he concluded sulkily.

‘They are not there. That’s strange. Yet they appear, do they not, in the print of that scandalous tract, that same broken T, and a, and the O, that are broken on the title page?’

‘They appear to, aye.’

‘They appear to, aye. Master Chapman has told us that the chance of two sets of letters being broken in just the same places, are so slight as to be quite impossible. Do you concur with that?’

‘I would have to, aye.’

‘Indeed. Then tell us, in the scandalous tract, do you see any other letters broken, but for these three?’

‘No sir. They are all intact.’

‘How very curious. I have no further questions.’

‘But sir,’ protested Phillip, ‘I do not understand. For those broken sorts could not be in the tray. The week boy took them to the foundry. They were melted down.’

At a stroke, he had blown apart Hew’s case. And Hew saw Richard Cunningham allow himself to smile.

‘Now then,’ Richard countered, quickly on his feet, ‘you are very loyal, are you not, to your employer Christian Hall? Some might say, devoted.’

‘Our chapel is a close one,’ Phillip said defensively.

‘Aye, as I say, you are close. Now, you stated, did you not, that only the compositor has access to the case?’

‘Aye, in general, that is true.’

‘And only the compositor would know the layout of the case, and where to find the letters and the blocks. Is it conceivable, do you think, that a messenger, or a week boy, or an author or – what was it now, an
ink man
, with a pocketful of letters pilfered from your tray,’ Richard went on mockingly, ‘might come into the shop, and go into that case, that you did guard so jealously, and remove the block, without your knowing it?’

‘No sir, not a stranger,’ agreed Phillip.

‘
Not a stranger
. Then if the block was removed from the drawer, the only person who could have removed it was someone who knew where it was; someone who had access to the case when you were not there in attendance; someone, in short, who came from the shop.’

‘I suppose it must be so.’

‘I suppose it must be so,’ Richard echoed crisply. ‘I thank you for your help. I have no further questions.’

Phillip stood helpless, the title page still in his hand. He had begun to sweat. His hands were dirty from the gaol. There was a sordid, hopeless shabbiness about him as he fumbled with the sheet. Hew was struck by the bitterness of irony; it was Matthew Cullan’s proof that he was holding in his hand, Matthew Cullan’s book that he was setting when they took him; Matthew Cullan’s manuscript that had fallen in the firth and was all but rubbed away when Phillip took such pains to resurrect it. The warmth of the courtroom began to close in, and Hew was aware he had lost.

‘May I have a cup of water?’ he asked suddenly. The palest flame of hope began to flicker through his mind.

‘It is not usual,’ said the judge, ‘yet may do no harm.’

The cup was brought, and as Hew accepted it he caught sight of Phillip Ramsay’s face, grey and unhappy in the fading light. He stood still in the box, for no one had advised him to stand down.

‘Take it to the witness,’ Hew told the clerk. The cup was set down beside Phillip, who looked at it as if he had not seen such a thing before.

‘Do you have a handkerchief?’ Hew asked him quietly.

‘A
handkercher
?’ This was so ridiculous that for a moment it allowed the briefest glimpse of Phillip’s scorn to filter through. ‘Sir, I have been in the castle gaol these past ten days. And even when I went, I did not have a handkercher.’

‘I suppose not. Then you must take mine.’ Hew removed it from his sleeve and handed it to Phillip at the witness stand.

‘Dip the end in water, and rub it on the printed tree upon that paper in your hand. Make it somewhat wet, but do not rub too hard. I wish to see what happens,’ he explained.

Phillip stared at him. ‘Nothing will happen, sir.’ His voice revealed hopelessness, too raw for pity.

‘Do it,’ Hew commanded.

Richard yawned. ‘More games.’

Phillip wet the cloth, and wiped the page. He held it up. ‘It is a little wet, sir, nothing more.’

Hew nodded. ‘Now do the same to the scandalous tract. Wet the cloth, and rub it in the same place, by the branches of the tree.’

Phillip did so, ‘Why, sir, that is strange. The ink is smudged.’

‘Hold the page aloft, for the court to see.’ Indeed, the ink had smudged. ‘What do you conclude from that?’

‘That it is not printers’ ink.’

‘And what do you conclude from that?’

‘That this was not made in any printer’s shop.’

‘Can you tell us, what sort of ink it might be?’

‘I know not … not iron gall, that is used in quills … but wait …’ Phillip wiped again with the cloth, cleaning off the black. ‘It is iron gall, here, underneath. But gall is too loose and thin for printing, so this has been mixed with something else … something that would give it weight and substance, and the right amount of blackness. Something that dissolves in water. I would say …’ he licked the corner of the handkerchief, ‘I would say carbon, or soot.’

‘Then this ink has been made to look like printers ink, from common writing ink, mixed with common household soot, for colour and consistency, for printing from the block.’

‘I should say so, sir. But the person who made this, understanding not the properties of ink, did not know how to make it permanent. When it gets wet, it separates.’