The Redemption of Alexander Seaton

Again the image came to my mind. I spoke in a low voice to Gilbert Grant. ‘Was it at the Elf Kirk? Did she jump in the end from the Elf Kirk?’

Both Grant and his wife turned puzzled frowns on me. ‘At the Elf Kirk? No, boy, surely you have heard. She poisoned herself on the Rose Craig. She was found there, dead, by Geleis Guild and her four children on the evening of the Sabbath; they had gone that way to pick flowers to take to Marion before the service in the kirk. But Marion already had flowers; when they found her, she was wearing a garland of henbane in her hair.’

Henbane: the wanderers awaiting their transportation across the Styx, it was said, had worn henbane in their hair. And in the wilder imaginings of the townfolk, henbane was the special flower of the diabolic, of the witches and warlocks who flew in the night in their satanic ecstasies. But Marion Arbuthnott would have been in no ecstasy. I thought of the provost’s lovely, delicate young wife and of her four pretty children. I remembered the sight that had greeted me across my schoolroom desk only a week ago. It was not fitting that children should see such a thing. I prayed God, sincerely, that he might take the vision of it from their minds. I had not long, I am thankful, to dwell on this, for there was the sound of a familiar commotion from the front parlour and soon James Jaffray was showing himself into the schoolhouse kitchen. With no needless greeting or ceremony he went directly to where the apothecary sat and knelt before him, taking his left hand in his own and putting the other to the man’s forehead. ‘You are ill, my friend. There is a fever coming on you. We must get you quickly to your bed. Your wife can prepare the simples?’

Arbuthnott tried to rally himself. ‘I will take mallow; there is always some ready for the fevers.’

The doctor nodded. ‘I will see to it also that she prepares you a dish of rhubarb. And a decoction of melancholy thistle in some wine. It will revive your spirits a little.’

The apothecary nodded wearily. ‘For myself, I wish for nothing now other than death, but the woman cannot manage on her own. Without myself or Marion, she would be destitute. But for myself, for myself,’ watery eyes now stared at some distant private vision, ‘all is gone.’

‘Come now,’ said Jaffray kindly, ‘you are still needed in the town. I have not half your knowledge of medicines and cures, and there is no one else now.’

Arbuthnott raised bitter eyes towards him. ‘And do you think I would lift a hand to help any one of them, after what they have done to my beautiful girl?’

‘Not all, now.’

‘No,’ the man conceded, ‘not all.’

We left the kitchen then to the doctor and the apothecary and the mistress, who stayed to help bathe the sick man and persuade him to take a little warm broth before he should move out in the cold again. A spare suit of Gilbert Grant’s clothing was found for him; my own only spare set of clothes was on my back, my other now being pummelled by the maidservant in a tub in the backyard. I should have been more thoughtful before taking to my night-swimming. It had done me little good.

The schoolmaster retired then to his study, inviting me to keep him company. It was a place of comfort and good reflection, a place of exercise for the mind, and my heart always warmed to the old man when he asked me to join him there.

‘I have something for you first,’ I said. ‘I will be down in a minute.’ I headed up the stairs as he made himself comfortable in his easy chair. The packages and luggage carried over by Jaffray’s stable boy were lying by my bed. I checked all were there; none had gone amiss on my journey. The mid-morning gloom afforded very little light to my small chamber, but I found what I was looking for without much difficulty. I was down again at Gilbert Grant’s door only a few moments after leaving him. He was sitting in contemplation by the room’s only window, an unlit candle at his elbow. Around him was an air of sadness I had seen on him only once before, when I had finally come home and told him that what he had heard about my final trial for the ministry had been true. He was a man too ready to share in the sufferings of those dear to him, and of the innocent. In his many long years as schoolmaster in Banff, he had come to love many and had had cause to weep with them too often. His face lightened a little when he noticed me in the doorway.

‘Come in, Alexander, come in. We will rest ourselves here. While we cannot be of any use, at least we can keep ourselves from getting in the way.’ I smiled as I recalled how often I had heard his wife scold him for being in the way. She was always so busy, in the midst of much movement, and he preferred to be quiet and move little, but I think she knew that the reason he was always in her road was that he loved her so dearly. Before settling myself in the only other seat in the room I handed him the package.