Macbeth's Niece (32 page)

“Then we must go t’ London,” Banaugh said
with certainty. “’Tis a large place, bu’ ye know a bit o’ it. I ken
we shall make our way there somehow.”

“Oh, Banaugh, I’m sorry you must leave your
homeland for me. If I only I weren’t Macbeth’s kinswoman.”

“Och, dinna fash yersel’,” the old man
replied. “I’ve ever had a secre’ yen t’ see a fine big city, and
here’s m’ chance. It will only be for a short time. Once Malcolm
settles in, many o’ Macbeth’s auld supporters will start creepin’
home. It’s th’ way o’ things.”

Early next morning, the two left Dundee,
sailing out the Tay Estuary and along the coastline to London. They
had some nervous moments as they boarded the ship, fearing capture,
but no one paid them much heed at all. “The monk must have been
telling the truth,” Tessa remarked. “Malcolm only wants me
gone.”

“Aye, it’s Hawick tha’ ye must fear, lass.
Ye’ve escaped him again, an’ he is nae a man who likes bein’ made
th’ fool.”

Once again the trip was difficult for Tessa
due to having to hide the fact she was female. Banaugh provided
distractions and excuses, usually citing his ancient constitution.
One evening the boat moored at Whitley Bay, where they took on a
third passenger. The man looked familiar to Tessa, but she couldn’t
place him until he offered to sing for the sailors. It was the bard
who had sung at Hawick’s the first night they were there, now
traveling south for the winter. He looked quite different in travel
attire, which was much plainer than the colorful costume he wore
while performing.

“I travel the Lowlands all summer,” he told
those on the ship, “but when autumn comes, it’s back to England for
me. Winter is too damp by far in Scotland for a man whose voice is
his living, you see.”

He sang them the story of the “Twa Corbies”
and several other lays, his thin face reflecting the emotions of
the stories within. He had delicate hands on the lute and thin legs
that looked as if they would break easily, yet he covered hundreds
of miles in a year, spending a week at this castle or two at that,
earning his keep and whatever else the thanes or their ladies saw
fit to give him. What made a man choose such a rootless life? The
faces of the crew as they sat listening to him were rapt and almost
magically changed. That might have been the best reward of all.

After he had sung the evening’s last song,
the crew moved away to make their beds on the ship’s deck. Having
paid passage, the three of them, Banaugh, Tessa, and the bard, were
given space beneath a leather awning that kept out most of the sun
and some of the rain. The singer smiled at them now that some
privacy was afforded and asked, “Did I not see the two of you at
Ian Hawick’s?”

“Yes,” Banaugh admitted. “We visited a while
back.”

“Your visit caused much ado if I remember,”
the bard commented wryly. “Or, more precisely, your departure.” The
two did not know what to say, having no idea how much the man knew
of their story. “Don’t worry,” he assured them. “A bard has no
loyalties. I merely observe what happens around me and move on to a
new place. They hardly notice me when there’s no entertaining to be
done.”

Tessa looked beseechingly at Banaugh, who
asked the question she was thinking. “When did you leave Hawick’s
stronghold, then?”

“Just over a week ago. As I said, it was in
a state of confusion. Once this young…person left,” he said,
quirking a satiric eyebrow at Tessa, “there was cause to believe
the authorities might descend upon the place. Hawick and his men
rode north, believing the escaped person would head that way and
hoping to head off any chance of warning certain people.” The man
was certainly careful not to take sides or to appear to know too
much, though Tessa sensed he knew most of it. “Mistress Mairie made
plans to travel south with Master Brixton. I considered traveling
with them, for safety, but had not made up my mind.”

So it was true. Mairie had gone to York with
Jeffrey, hoping to become Lady Brixton. Tessa’s face fell, and the
bard looked at her meaningfully.

“Of course, plans do not always go as one
would wish,” he continued. “Once Hawick rode away to the north with
the main body of his troop, there were only eight of his men left
at the castle. Two stayed on guard while the others went in search
of the person I spoke of earlier. Two went east, two more west, and
the last two south.” The bard fell unconsciously into his
storytelling voice, making the telling sound almost like the
historic sagas of old.

“I was awakened early one morning by the
lady Mairie’s screams. At first I thought she was in danger, so I
hurried into the courtyard. The two guards who had stood at the
gate were bound and gagged, struggling like two worms on the ground
inside the bailey. The lady screamed in anger, not in fear, and I
have never heard such language from any who calls herself a lady, I
must tell you.

“In the stable we found two more of the men,
who had evidently come into the castle after completing their
search only to be attacked and trussed up like two over-large
pheasants hung to age. The castle was searched, and well, too, but
there was no sign of Jeffrey Brixton, and one horse was missing.
Later they found two more men on the road to Jedburgh. They did not
fare so well as the others. There was evidently a pitched battle.
One was dead and the other senseless.

“That left the lady with no gentleman and a
depleted escort for her trip to England. I tell you, she was in a
fine state! I excused myself as soon as I could, saying I was
expected in Jedburgh. When I left, she was preparing for a journey,
to where I cannot say, since I imagine York was no longer a
possibility.” He stopped with an ironic smile. Loyalties or no,
Tessa could see the bard was not upset to see Hawick’s prisoner
escape and Mairie’s plans thwarted.

His feelings could not compare to Tessa’s.
Despite herself she rejoiced that Jeffrey had escaped the wicked
Hawick, killed one of his brutes, and rejected Mairie. She lay down
to sleep on the hard planking with a smile neither Banaugh nor the
bard missed.

Several days after they’d left Dundee, Tessa
and Banaugh found themselves on a crowded dock at London’s east
end. The bard had left them at Saltburn, wishing them well as he
tossed his leather-wrapped lute over one shoulder. They had
continued down the coast and up the Thames with fair weather but
deadly dullness. Now, standing unsteadily as her legs got used to
firm ground, Tessa saw nothing familiar. Any experience she had of
London was far away from the docks, where smells, sights and sounds
of all kinds made her head ache. Here were the industries not
allowed in the City itself: brewing, bleaching, dying, and vinegar
making, whose odors offended the sensibilities of the populace.
They were far from the house William Brixton kept in Highgate, and
she had no idea which direction to go to find lodging.

“Have we any money at all, Banaugh?” she
asked the old man, who had gathered their belongings.

“A verra li’le. Enow for a night’s lodgin’
and a meal, if the first is nae grand an’ the second nae
large.”

“Very well, then. We’ll walk into the city
and hope I see something familiar.”

It was not long until Tessa realized her
knowledge of London was not as extensive as she had thought. The
city was large and constantly changing. Shops burned or were
enlarged, sometimes into the street, changing the traffic patterns.
They wandered among the narrow pathways, twice ending up in a close
with no exit except the way they had come. Banaugh was
encouragingly cheerful and unconcerned, enjoying the sights and
sounds of this new place. It took two hours of walking and several
helpful passersby before Tessa saw a place she recognized. “There!
Banaugh, I went to a party at that house.”

“Well, it’s a fine house, lass, bu’ will
they recognize ye th’ way ye’re dressed?”

Tessa looked down at her trousers and loose
shirt, now filthy. “No, and what’s more, I don’t know what Sir
William told people about me, so I’m not sure what kind of
reception I would receive if they did.” She was near to tears with
fatigue and worry.

“Lass, we’ll ge’ a room nearby and ha’
somethin’ t’ eat. In th’ morn, ye’ll change yersel’ into m’ bonny
Tessa and see wha’ happens. It’s tae much t’ think on noo.”

As usual, Banaugh was right. They found a
fairly clean, inexpensive inn that allowed them a room to
themselves, since there was no large crowd in London at the time.
The evening meal was a simple lamb stew with more vegetables than
lamb, but it was warm and nourishing. After supper Tessa found
that, without the constant motion that had bothered her on the
ship, she fell asleep quickly and had no thought for the morrow
until it came.

When she awoke, Banaugh had already gone
looking for hot water so she could wash. He left her to her
toilette returning when she was done to use the same water to shave
and wash himself.

Once they were refreshed and had broken fast
with some bread from the night before, Tessa decided it might be
useful to observe the goings-on at the house she had recognized.
Reluctant to knock on the door in case she was mistaken or
rejected, she hoped someone she knew might pass by. That person’s
reaction would help her gauge what her reception would be among
those who had known her in London. She hoped Cedric had obtained an
annulment to the marriage when she fled before the marriage could
be consummated. Whatever the case, she had to know what had been
said of her by Cedric, by William, and perhaps now even by Jeffrey,
if he had indeed returned home.

Determined to find someone who could tell
her all this, Tessa returned to the narrow wooden house that sat
wedged between others much like it, only the door making it unique.
This door was painted blue, with pails of water set on either side
of it in case of fire, as demanded by law. While other homes’ pails
were plain and serviceable, the paint on these pails was blue to
match the door, someone’s attempt to beautify necessity.

A well with a roofed arch was located
nearby, offering shelter and a place to sit. Taking up a position
where she could see the blue door, Tessa began her watch while
Banaugh explored the area. He returned every hour or so to report
what he’d seen. Tessa was glad to see him enjoy himself, marveling
at wonders he’d only heard of.

“Why, lass,” he said after the first hour.
“A body can buy anythin’ i’ the world i’ this London. There are
carts t’ take ye anywhere ye’d like, if we’d ony money left, and
there’s women sellin’ food I ne’er saw afore.” Then he was off in a
different direction to sample new delights.

Tessa sat regarding the door of the house
she remembered. Who had lived there? She really didn’t recall, only
had a vague memory of being introduced to a big-bosomed woman and a
portly man. Carlyle? Himden? There had been so many in such a short
time.

Twice the blue door opened. Once a serving
girl in a plain muslin gown stepped out and bought something from a
peddler. The second time a man came out, perhaps the man she
remembered, although it was hard to tell from a distance. He looked
prosperous in a wine-colored robe and a black velvet tunic and hat.
The man paid her no attention and went off in the opposite
direction.

Finally, just before noon, the door opened a
third time. From it stepped two women, an older woman with a large
bosom, almost certainly the woman Tessa had pictured so dimly. The
other was—Her heart leapt. The other was Mary Brixton. Of course!
She’d been engaged to marry Francis, her stammering swain, and that
wedding must have taken place by now. The house was her in-laws’,
and either Mary lived there or she was visiting them.

Tessa was so preoccupied she almost failed
to grasp that the two women were walking away from her. When she
did, she pondered for a moment what to do. Banaugh was off on one
of his explorations. If he returned to find her gone, would he
worry about her? She decided to leave a simple message. Tearing a
bit of decorative ribbon from her shift, she tied it in a neat bow
around the handle of the bucket that hung in the well and set out
after Mary.

The two women ahead of her looked content
and prosperous. Both wore heavy cloaks against the cold of
November, but below could be glimpsed long dresses trimmed with
elegant braid and soft leather boots. Their heads were covered
completely by wimples over which decorative caps of fine fabric
were set. Tessa herself had resorted to cutting the monk’s robe
into a cape for herself as the weather had cooled, but without the
proper tools, the best that could be said for it was it served its
purpose.

She followed the two women at a distance,
watching Mary and discerning she had become an attractive wife with
a comely look and pleasant manner. It took a while to accomplish
Tessa’s goal, which was speaking to Mary alone. She and the older
woman entered several shops, buying ribbon and thread in one, paper
in another. Finally, they entered a boot maker’s shop, where
apparently the older lady was to have shoes made. She and the clerk
went into the back of the shop while Mary looked idly at the wares
in the front. Seizing her chance, Tessa went inside and approached
her.

“Mary, is it you?”

At first confused by the tattered girl who
accosted her, Mary frowned in curiosity. Then her eyes grew round
and lit with delight. “Tessa! Oh, Tessa, we’ve been so worried
about you!” Mary threw herself into Tessa’s arms, and all doubts
and fears faded. Mary was glad to see her, and she’d said “we!” All
the Brixtons hadn’t rejected her!

“Quickly, Mary. What’s the situation with
Eleanor’s family and with you?”

Mary blushed. “Well, I have married Francis
Hope, whom you know. His stammer is not nearly so bad of late.”