Free Queen & Country by Shirley McKay Page B

back of the hall, where sunlight came glancing from several large windows, were set out some tables for board games and cards, and a shelf with a small row of books. There were several chairs, and a bright bow window seat, where Hew sat down to read. He had not gone much further than ‘A Rule to Know when Exercise Should Begin’ (the colour of the urine was apparently the key) when he had been distracted by the lighting of the sun upon a line of letters, delicate as frost, etched upon the window under which he sat. The gentle men and women who had watered in that place, having time and leisure on their hands, had whiled away the spare hours writing in the glass, with the pointed bezels of their diamond rings. There were verses, anagrams, among the hearts and flowers, the open secret record of a lover’s trysts and tiffs. But what had held him rapt were those that bore the signature of the queen of Scots. For they were bitter notes, plaintive to the pith; not the tender linnet, singing in its cage, but the restless lion, rattling at the bars. It brought to mind the king of Scotland, and his pale menagerie.
    â€˜Et dejecto insultant lepores leoni’ , Even the hares will taunt a dead lion. The words were defiant and proud.
    â€˜I see you like to read. Perhaps you will excuse us for our lack of library? On command of our dear queen, our public shelves were stripped of all that might appeal to Roman Catholic tastes. Those interests were diverse, or else the censors scrupulous, for there is little left.’
    Hew had been engrossed, and had not been aware of the approach of the physician. It was far from clear, from the doctor’s tone, whether he approved or not of the queen’s efficiency. Hew rose to take his hand. ‘Are you Doctor Jones?’
    â€˜Alas, not. I am Samuel Forrester, the physician here. I am not so favoured as my famous colleague. It seems you are familiar with his work.’
    â€˜I have not got far with it,’ Hew had admitted. ‘According to the title, the waters in this place cure “most grievous sicknesses”. What does that mean? Most grievous sicknesses, or most grievous sicknesses?’
    The doctor had answered him, ‘Indeed,’ with the smooth prevarication Hew was well acquainted with in men of his profession. ‘If you care to read the whole, you are sure to find it most apt and illuminating.’ Despite his clipped English accent, and his pinched and narrow features, something in his manner had reminded Hew of Giles. He had felt – felt even now – a sudden lurch of homesickness.
    â€˜If you will follow to my cubicle,’ the physician had proposed, ‘there I can examine you.’
    â€˜Ah, it is not I, but my master is unwell. He has taken to his bed.’
    â€˜Where I shall see him presently. Oftentimes, the journey here exacerbates old ills. Do not be alarmed, for it will quickly pass. As for you yourself, you must be cleared of sickness before going to the baths. And, if I may say so, you do not look well. Have you lost weight?’
    They were out of earshot now, in the doctor’s cubicle, and Hew had dared to say, ‘I was looking at the writing on the glass.’
    â€˜Hmm?’ The doctor had his back to him, writing in a book.
    â€˜On the window pane.’
    â€˜A frivolous pursuit. Do you have a cough? The croup? Persistent rheum?’
    â€˜None of those. Am I right when I suppose that Mary, queen of Scots has written verses there?’
    â€˜That is more than likely. Have you ever suffered from the great or little pox?’
    â€˜Never, God be thanked. Is she often here?’
    â€˜Not so often, no.’ The doctor had perused him sternly through his spectacles, and Hew had been expecting him to offer some rebuke, when he had remarked, ‘If I were a man, who fished before a net, then I should place a wager she will come here very soon.’
    â€˜Why do you say