Seventeen Coffins

by Philip Caveney

  ‘No, sir, it’s just me,’ said Tom.

  Billy looked unconvinced. ‘What, a bright young feller like you?’ he cried. ‘You surely must have some relatives around the city.’

  ‘Uh uh.’ Tom shook his head. ‘I used to know people on Mary King’s Close . . . but that was . . . er, years ago.’

  ‘So what you’re telling me is you’re an orphan?’

  ‘Er . . . kind of.’ It seemed to Tom that it was easier to go along with this than to try and explain the actual situation. For one thing, it was complicated. For another, Billy would probably decide he was some kind of escaped lunatic. He reached into his pocket. ‘Like I was saying, I can pay you . . .’

  Billy put out a hand to stop Tom. ‘I wouldn’t even think about taking your money!’ he announced grandly. ‘Why, I couldn’t live with meself if I did a thing like that. A man has his pride, you know, and I reckon William will say just the same.’

  ‘William?’ asked Tom.

  ‘He’s the l . . . l . . . landlord,’ explained Jamie.

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ agreed Billy, with a sly wink. ‘Billy and Will, we are. And would you believe the two of us boyos are from pretty much the same part of the auld country, but only met here in Edinburgh a year ago? That’s fate, that is, no two ways about it.’ He leaned closer to confide a secret. ‘Margaret won’t be keen on the idea of you staying, you can bet your boots on that, but you just leave it to me to sweet talk William and I reckon you’ll have a place to lay your head before you even know it. Tell you what, why don’t you wait here, while I go and have a quick word with ‘em?’

  ‘Er . . . ok,’ said Tom doubtfully and for a second time, the door was closed in their faces. Tom stood there shivering. Now the sun had gone down, the temperature was rapidly falling. He wasn’t even sure he liked the look of the boarding house, but he was in no position to be choosy and he knew he didn’t want to spend the night sleeping rough on the streets, even if Jamie claimed to know some ‘good places’.

  ‘So how do you know this Billy?’ he asked Jamie.

  ‘Oh, just from around,’ said Jamie. ‘He’s always b . . . been kind to me. Gives me money to get food sometimes. Once he paid me two pennies to r . . . run an errand for him.’

  ‘What kind of errand?’

  ‘A d . . . d . . . delivery,’ said Jamie. ‘Me and another fellow, John, we h . . . had to take a tea chest up to the

  S . . . Surgeons’ Hall in the city. We pushed it along on a trolley. A man met us there and t . . . took the tea chest inside. Then he came out and p . . . paid us ten pounds!’

  Tom tried to look suitably impressed. While it didn’t sound very much, he was well aware from Jamie’s excited expression that this must be big money.

  ‘What was in the tea chest?’ he asked.

  Jamie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Weren’t you curious? I mean, you could have had a peek inside, surely?’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘It was nailed shut,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we bought the ten pounds back to B . . . Billy and he gave us another tuppence each for our t . . . troubles. That was a good night’s work, I can tell you! I bought a b . . . big chocolate cake and I ate the lot!’

  ‘But didn’t you ask . . .?’

  At that moment, the door opened again and there was Billy, grinning out at them and looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘It’s all arranged, so ’ he announced. ‘We’ve a place for you to lay your head and we’ve even had a thought about a few wee jobs you could do around the house, to help earn your keep.’

  This didn’t sound like the best news to Tom. He thought about some of the horrific things he’d been made to do back in the seventeenth century, one of which had been to act as apprentice to a bogus plague doctor. He considered putting up some kind of protest, but now one of Billy’s big hands was on his shoulder, drawing him inside, and for the moment there seemed to be no real option but to go along with things. He paused on the step and glanced uncertainly at Jamie. ‘What about you?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll b . . . be on my way,’ said Jamie. ‘I n . . . need to find my own place for the n . . . n . . . night.’

  ‘Oh, but . . .’ Tom looked at Billy. ‘Isn’t there somewhere for Jamie to stay?’ he pleaded. While sleeping on the streets wasn’t an appealing proposition, neither did he much like the idea of being left alone in this grim-looking place.

  Billy looked at Tom, seemingly puzzled by the suggestion. Then he glanced at Jamie as though he’d actually forgotten he was there. He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid we’ve only room for the one,’ he said. ‘But Jamie is well used to looking after himself, I’d say.’ He registered Tom’s look of disappointment and reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he took out a coin which he pressed into Jamie’s hand. ‘There’s a penny for you, young feller-me-lad,’ he said. ‘You make sure you get a cup of something hot inside you before you turn in for the night.’

  ‘Thank you, Billy,’ said Jamie. He looked at Tom. ‘I’ll d . . . drop by tomorrow,’ he suggested. ‘S . . . see how you’re getting on.’

  ‘Ok,’ said Tom. ‘That’ll be cool.’ He was going to add something else, but now Billy had a brawny arm around his shoulders and was drawing him into the gloom. Tom caught just a glimpse of Jamie’s pale face peering in at him and then the door slammed shut yet again and Billy was leading him along a narrow hallway that smelled of raw meat and boiled cabbage.

  ‘Step right this way,’ he said, in a jovial voice. ‘And I’ll introduce you to the rest of the merry crew!’

  Seven

  They entered a large, dimly-lit room. Heavy curtains covered the windows, drawn tight against the outside world as though it was not welcome in there. To Tom’s left there was a crudely-made wooden counter which ran the whole length of the room. Behind it, rows of large wooden barrels lay on their sides, stacked on stout shelves and wedged firmly in place. The counter top was covered in scores of clay and metal tankards.

  Margaret skulked behind the counter, regarding Tom sullenly as though she still didn’t want him to be here. He noticed that she now had a tiny baby clutched under one arm. It was swathed in layers of blanket and howling pitifully although Margaret wasn’t taking any notice of it. Every so often its crying was interrupted by a bout of violent coughing, though that didn’t merit Margaret’s attention either. She carried it as though it had no more importance than a bundle of dirty washing.

  At the far end of the room customers sat around smaller tables, drinking from tankards, playing cards or watching a grey-haired old man who was standing on a slightly raised stage and playing a fiddle, badly, producing sounds that resembled the noises made by cats on hot summer nights. Over everything hung a fog of smoke and body odour and the thick, acrid stench of stale beer.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Billy, proudly. ‘The finest drinking den in Edinburgh!’

  He drew Tom towards a larger pine table to their right, where a man and a young woman were sitting with drinks in front of them. The woman glanced up at Tom and smiled welcomingly. A tangle of dark curls framed her face which, despite being whitened with powder, still looked bewitchingly pretty. Her blue eyes were outlined with black and her full lips painted a deep red.

  ‘Well, who have we here?’ she asked.

  ‘This is Tom,’ said Billy, pushing him down into a chair beside her. ‘From England,’ he added, as though this was important. ‘Tom, this lovely lady is Nell McDougall and I don’t mind telling you she’s my sweetheart, so I’ll thank you to keep your hands off her.’ He chortled merrily and Nell laughed along with him.

  ‘Er . . . hi,’ said Tom, awkwardly, aware that his face was reddening. ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t . . . I mean, I’m not . . .’

  ‘Ach, ignore him,’ said Nell. ‘He just likes putting people on the spot.’ She had a Scottish accent, Tom thought, but not the genteel tones of Edinburgh. She sounded coarser, harder, somehow. Glasgow, perhaps? ‘And besides,’ she added with a sly wink, �
�Billy knows I always have an eye for a handsome young feller.’

  Now Tom felt himself blushing to his roots, but Billy continued talking as though nothing had happened.

  ‘And this fine gentleman is Will, who I was already telling you about.’

  Tom turned his head to take in the man at the table and immediately felt a stab of distrust. He was tall and skinny, with jet-black hair pulled back from his forehead and greased down onto his skull like a cap. He had a sharp, hawk-like nose and his long, thin face seemed permanently fixed in a sardonic grin. Most discomforting though, were his eyes which seemed to smoulder with a fierce intensity. When he spoke his accent was much like Billy’s.

  ‘I’m told yer an orphan,’ he said.

  Tom didn’t feel in any position to argue the case. ‘Er . . . yeah,’ he said. ‘It sucks.’

  Billy and Will exchanged a puzzled look, but the grin soon etched itself back onto Will’s face. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ he said. ‘We take all sorts in here, don’t we, Billy?’

  ‘We do,’ agreed Billy, sitting down and reaching for a half-filled tankard on the table. He took a generous swallow. ‘All kinds of waifs and strays and sure, don’t we look after ‘em well? Don’t we treat ‘em like they was our very own kith and kin?’ He sniggered and Tom noticed that Nell shot him a challenging look.

  ‘The boy must be thirsty,’ she said. ‘And hungry, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Oh, no, I just ate,’ Tom assured them. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink though.’

  ‘You ate?’ Billy scowled. ‘Where, exactly?’

  ‘At the McCallums, just up the road.’

  ‘But . . . weren’t you just after telling me that you didn’t know anybody in Edinburgh?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Jamie took me there. He knows them.’

  ‘The McCallums from Tanner’s Close?’ muttered Will.

  ‘Yeah. Is that a problem?’

  ‘Er . . . no, no,’ said Billy, waving a hand. ‘I was just surprised, that’s all. You being a stranger here and everyt’ing.’ Tom could see that Will was glaring accusingly at Billy, but Billy was doing his best to ignore it. ‘So, what drink will it be, Tom?’ he asked. ‘Ale or whisky?’

  ‘Umm . . . any chance of a diet coke?’ asked Tom without thinking. And then added quickly, ‘Or maybe just a glass of water?’

  This seemed to amuse Billy. ‘I wouldn’t drink the water here if I was you,’ he said. ‘The last man who tried that is pushing up the daisies in Greyfriars!’ He laughed at his own joke, then turned his head to the bar and waved a hand. ‘Margaret, my dear, I wonder if you’d be so kind as to bring young Tom here a tankard of your finest ale?’

  Margaret shot a look of pure vitriol across the counter, but she picked up a clay tankard with her free hand and began to fill it from one of the barrels. The baby carried on with its shrieking and coughing.

  ‘I don’t think Margaret likes me,’ muttered Tom.

  ‘Of course she likes you,’ said Billy, taking another gulp from his drink. ‘Sure, that’s just her way. She’s what you call a diamond in the rough.’

  ‘She’s what I call a rat bag,’ said Tom, and heard a sharp intake of breath from Nell. He looked at her. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘Is she a friend of yours?’

  He saw that both Nell and Billy were now looking anxiously at Will, as though expecting him to say something, but the thin man’s expression remained unchanged, the same insincere grin that was more of a grimace than anything else.

  ‘Margaret is what you call highly-strung,’ he said. ‘You get used to her.’

  ‘Will is married to Margaret,’ explained Nell.

  ‘Not properly married,’ added Billy. ‘Common-law, I think they call it. But it’s as good as.’ He winked at Nell. ‘It’s good enough for us two, anyway!’

  Tom began to wish that he had a spade so he could dig a hole, climb in and cover himself with earth. He looked helplessly at Will. ‘Erm . . . Mr Laird, in . . . in Manchester, that word, rat bag, it means that you’re sort of . . .’

  ‘I well know what the word means,’ said Will. ‘And the name’s not Laird, neither. Wasn’t Billy just after telling you that it’s a common-law arrangement?’ At that moment Margaret arrived with the tankard of ale in one hand and the screaming baby still tucked under her other arm. She slammed the drink down so hard in front of Tom that some of the contents actually slopped out and splashed his face.

  ‘Er . . . thanks,’ he said.

  ‘You are most welcome,’ growled Margaret and stalked back to her place at the bar, taking her clamouring baby with her. As they departed, the child emitted another bout of hacking coughs, which, this time, degenerated into a series of ragged howling sounds.

  ‘That baby,’ said Tom. ‘It doesn’t sound well.’

  Everybody nodded.

  ‘She has the whooping cough,’ said Nell. ‘It’s a terrible thing.’

  ‘Has she seen a doctor?’ asked Tom.

  This seemed to amuse Billy and Will.

  ‘Doctors,’ said Will. ‘Quacks, the lot of ‘em.’

  ‘Though of course, they do have their uses,’ said Billy.

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Will and raised his tankard. The two men drank and Billy motioned to Tom to join them. He lifted the heavy tankard to his lips. The dark liquid smelled like stagnant pond water and didn’t taste a whole lot better, but Tom forced himself to swallow down a mouthful, if only to keep the peace. Billy and Will seemed to be enjoying some kind of private joke and Tom told himself that there was something decidedly dodgy about them, though he had to confess that Billy seemed the more likable of the two. By a long shot.

  ‘So you’re a friend of Jamie’s?’ said Nell.

  Tom nodded and gratefully set down the tankard. ‘Well, yeah . . . though I only met him a couple of

  hours ago. He seems really nice.’

  ‘Oh, surely,’ agreed Nell. ‘Everyone knows Jamie.’

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ said Billy, and Will smirked as though he’d said something funny.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Aww, nothin’ really,’ said Billy. ‘He’s a nice enough young feller. It’s just that sometimes it doesn’t pay for your face to be too familiar. We’re big supporters of new faces around here, aren’t we Will?

  ‘We are,’ agreed Will.

  ‘ Now then, Tom. Me and Will had us a little talk and we decided you might like to take on a few jobs here. To earn your keep, so to speak.’

  Tom shrugged. He didn’t much like the sound of this. ‘What kind of jobs?’

  ‘Oh, collecting tankards, sweeping the floor, stuff like that.’

  Tom cast an eye around the place. It didn’t look as though it had ever been cleaned in its entire history. ‘Er . . . sure, why not?’ he said. He told himself that with any luck he wouldn’t be around long enough to actually do much work. ‘Will I be paid for it?’

  Billy and Will looked at each other and burst out laughing. Tom looked from one to the other in dismay. He wasn’t aware that he had said something funny.

  Eventually, Billy calmed down enough to reply. ‘We thought board and lodging would be ample payment,’ he said. ‘Most other people have to pay rent to stay here.’

  ‘Oh, sure. I only wondered,’ said Tom. ‘And I know you paid Jamie to make that delivery, so . . .’

  Billy and Will regarded Tom in silence for a moment.

  ‘What do you know about that?’ asked Will and the grin had finally disappeared from his face.

  ‘Oh, er . . . only what Jamie told me. He said you wanted a tea chest taken around to . . . the Surgeons’ Hall, was it? And that you were paid ten pounds for what was inside it.’

  Will glared at Billy. ‘I told you that boy was a blabbermouth,’ he said.

  Billy laughed unconvincingly. ‘Ah, nobody pays any mind to him. They all think he’s gone in the head.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie’s not stupid,’ Tom assured them. ‘I thought that when I
first met him, but then he showed me that trick with the snuffbox? You know what? I think he might be autistic.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he is,’ said Nell. ‘He drew a picture of me once, it was very good.’

  ‘No, not artistic. Autistic.’ He looked around the table and received nothing but blank looks in return. Clearly the term was more modern than he had imagined. ‘He’s . . . not what you think,’ he said at last. ‘He’s . . . clever.’

  Will frowned. ‘Maybe too clever for his own good,’ he murmured.

  ‘Ah, relax,’ said Billy. He looked at Tom. ‘I can see you’re a clever lad, Tom, so I’ll level with yer. What it is, we supply the surgeons with meat for their kitchens, so we do. We have a trusted supplier and we get them some choice cuts at a bit of a discount. But it’s . . . not done through the books, if you know what I mean? There’s strict laws governing the movement of beef in this city. That’s why we always take the stuff round there at night. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that quiet, all right?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Ok,’ he said. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Billy glanced at Will and smiled, then changed the subject. ‘Well, come on, this is no fun at all! We’ll have another drink, so.’ He turned and waved to Margaret. ‘Bring us another round, Margaret, my dear,’ he said. ‘Whiskies this time.’

  ‘You’ll show me the colour of your money first,’ said Margaret uncharitably.

  ‘Ah, serve ‘em,’ growled Will. ‘I know they’re good for it.’

  ‘No more for me!’ said Tom, hastily. ‘Really.’

  Billy shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘Just the three of us, then.’

  Margaret seemed far from pleased, but she set down the baby in a corner, filled three glasses and brought them over on a tray which she slammed down with more force than necessary.

  Nell glared up at her. ‘Have you got something to say to me?’ she snarled.

  ‘What would I have to say to the likes of you?’ replied Margaret, glaring back at her. The two women stared at each other in silence for a moment before Margaret turned on her heel and flounced back to the bar.