Chapter Twenty-Six
The two made their way along the river, having concluded a ship was their best choice for the voyage south. Tessa tried to convince the old man he did not have to accompany her to England. He was safe in Scotland if he simply returned to his hills.
Banaugh would have none of it, though. “I wuld see ye away from this poor country,” he told her as they walked southward, keeping to the trees as much as possible. “There’s too much danger here for ye. Yer father was th’ wiser o’ th’ brothers. Wantin’ more an’ more leads t’ trouble, an’ them tha’ gae too much oft canna’ live wi’ themselves afterward.” Lowering his voice he added, “It’s said Macbeth’s wife pu’ an end t’ herself for tha’ verra reason.”
“She was distressed when last I saw her, poor thing.” Tessa sighed. “They were a sad pair at the end.”
Banaugh shook his head. “I’d nae trade places wi’ noble folk, for ambition is a disease wi’ them.” After a pause he added, “Not ye, o’ course, lass.”
Tessa seldom thought of herself as nobility. True, she was of Scotland’s upper class, but she did not feel any different from Banaugh. Hill chieftains were not far removed from their people, financially or socially. And she had no ambition to be better than anyone else. She wanted only to be herself and to be loved for that reason.
It was a short way from Perth to the town of Dundee, where Banaugh arranged passage on a boat ready to depart the next day for the south. War with the English had not stopped the constant flow of goods between the two countries, and boats left for London regularly loaded with hides, flax, salmon and dried cod.
London was the most logical destination for them, Tessa and Banaugh decided. It would be easiest to find work there, Tessa was somewhat familiar with the place, and she did not want to go anywhere near Brixton Manor. “I must get a message to Auntie Madeline somehow, though,” she told Banaugh.
“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.”
“Of course not,” Tessa assured her. “Many a young man stammers. It takes only time and love to cure it.”
Mary’s plain face glowed. “I knew you’d understand. Oh, I have missed being able to talk to you. You are so brave, and a wonderful friend beside. My mother-in-law—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “—thinks I’m a mouse.”
“Then she does not know you well enough as yet, I say. You are wonderful, too, Mary. If you knew how it cheers me just to see you!”
“Well, there was a terrible scene when you left, I can tell you. Uncle William was on about how you’d deceived poor Eleanor, and Sir Cedric was in a rage because he looked the fool, but Auntie Madeline said you must have had good reason for what you did, despite their ranting. Not that we believed William, who looks out only for himself. But we were very worried about you.”
“I’m back no
w, but my circumstances are even worse than before. My uncle the king is dead, his family despised. I have nothing, Mary, and I don’t know where to turn.” Tessa’s shame almost overcame her to admit this to her friend, but she could hide none of it.
Mary’s glance took in Tessa’s brown skin, thinness, and the makeshift cloak, and her face became serious. “I am sorry to hear it.” There was little Mary could do for her friend. As a young wife, she was very much under the control of her husband and her in-laws. She could not simply open her home to Tessa, much as she might want to.
Her face brightened again with a thought. “Aidan will help. He was quite fond of you; I know it. He’s in York now, though, at William’s sickbed.”
“I had heard Sir William was ill.” So Hawick had told the truth about that much, anyway.
“Oh yes, very. They say he won’t last much longer. He’s gone home, where Auntie Madeline nurses him. It seems Aidan will soon be the heir to Brixton with Ethelbert renouncing his title and Jeffrey gone—”
“But Mary, Jeffrey isn’t dead. I found him in Scotland, held captive by outlaws. He is well—at least he was when last I heard news of him.”
They heard noises from the back of the shop, signaling Mistress Hope had finished her business. Mary stared at Tessa as she digested the information. When she could speak, she whispered, “That’s wonderful news. We must speak again. Francis and I live in Oxford, and I must return there this afternoon, but I will send word when next I come to London and we will meet. Where are you staying?”
“The Mace and Thyme,” Tessa answered.
“I shall return in three days’ time, then,” came a voice, and Tessa shot Mary a warning look.
Mary understood, and when the lady emerged from the back, said only, “How nice it was to see you again, my dear,” as if speaking to a former servant. She took Tessa’s hand briefly before leaving with her mother-in-law. When Tessa looked down, there were coins in her hand, and Mary’s backward glance indicated she should not worry, for she had friends in London.
Banaugh was waiting at the well when Tessa hurried back. “I saw t’ ribbon an’ figured ye meant me t’ bide here,” he said. “If ye’d been in trouble, I doot ye’d tie sae nice a bow.”
Quickly telling him about Mary, she showed him the coins. “She gave me this, enough to pay for our lodging and food for several days.”
“We shall soon pay ’t back, Lass, for I ha’ taken employment.” His grizzled face showed pride in anticipation of her reaction.
“Employment? Banaugh, you were only gone an hour!”
“True, bu’ God looks after us both. I wandered by a dram shop, an’ inside was an auld woman tryin’ t’ move a barrel int’ place an’ havin’ a devil o’ a time of it. Natur’ly I stepped in t’ help. She tells me her husband has died, leavin’ her th’ shop, but it’s powerful hard on her. So I says, ‘Wha’ aboot a Scotsman tha’s honest, hard-workin’ a’ knows a bit concernin’ whiskey?’ An’ th’ old woman giggles an’ says, ‘Well, I macht give a man like tha’ a try, then.’ So I come back here t’ tell ye I’ll be takin’ up m’ new job as soon as I hae ye settled back a’ th’ inn. The pay’s nae much, bu’ I can live Ii’ th’ back o’ th’ shop an’ take m’ meals there as well.”
He grinned at Tessa, who struggled to comprehend so much news so quickly. Banaugh had a job, Mary was yet her friend. Could things turn out well after all? She felt the tension inside her relax a little as she hugged the old man’s bony shoulders in congratulation.