CHAPTER NINE
EDINBURGH
After Charles had left the Defoe household and was fighting the wind to get back to his father’s home, he had pause to consider. Those English were a queer lot. He liked Milord Defoe but why come to the Scotland at all? Because he was ‘interested in the Scottish people.’ What Englishman was interested in the Scottish? Then there was the groom Smith and his dour wife. They both seemed to have little to do but endless trips back and forth to London. When pressed as to what it was they were doing down there, Smith would simply reply that he would be getting Milady supplies that couldn’t be got in Edinburgh. He had to go all the way to London for that? Made no sense at t’all.
Still they had paid him well enough and now he would be reading law at Edinburgh and he couldn’t be more excited. He understood his former master had written a book something like The History of the Union or some such. He should try and get a copy to see what it was aboutaid. He was going to miss Defoe and hoped he would see him from time to time. With that last thought, Charles turned into his street and rushed to get in from the cold and to taste some of his mother’s excellent cooking.
It was Sunday and time for the Defoe family to make their way to church. Since there were so many of them, Daniel had made it a practice for them all to walk to Saint Giles Presbyterian church on High Street. It wasn’t all that far and he felt the exercise would do them all good. In one way Defoe felt welcome in Scotland and that was in the church. He had suffered in England for not being Catholic and was glad of the change. Plus, he would be able to see his good friend Professor Ferguson there and maybe talk him into a game of trump after the sermon.
Mary Defoe bustled around her various children fixing their clothes and jackets and rearranging the girl’s hair for the third time. Sunday was a big day and she knew they would all be on display and she wanted them all looking their best.
The family walked down the cobble stoned streets and listened to the higglers peddling their wares.
“Pippins, pippins, get your fresh apples here!” the merchants called out. His daughters always wanted to stop and look at hair ribbons and he had to keep shooing them along so as to be on time. The city was crowded and noisy which Defoe was used to; it made him glad for the quiet of his study at home.
They made it to the church and settled in for the sermon and he saw Ferguson and his wife and waved them over.
“Game of trump, Ferguson?” he asked.
“Aye, wouldn’t mind if I do. We will be meeting up at the pub for some lunch after the service and we can play then. Once she’s gone home,” he whispered with a nod toward his wife.
Defoe nodded and they both hushed up as the Bishop ascended the pulpit. They opened their bibles.
After the service Defoe and his wife did the usual meetings and greetings with the congregation. He felt less of the Scottish standoffishness in church. After a brief lunch of sandwiches and beer, Defoe sent Mary on home. When she protested, he advised that both Paul, the new manservant and Gwen, the house girl were with them and they should be fine. Reluctantly, she departed.
“She keeps you busy, that one, aye?” asked Ferguson with a laugh.
“That she does, that she does,” Defoe had to reply. They had gotten out the trump board and were setting it up. A couple of men from the church would join them to play.
“How is my former employee doing at school?” Defoe asked about Charles.
“Aye, that yon man is verily good. Bright mind - good student, he will be going far someday, no doubt. And his brother, how is that one?”
“Ah, fine, fine,” Defoe had to acknowledge, nodding his head.
“But not quite the same, eh?” Ferguson chuckled. Defoe had to agree. “So, what strange tales yea be working on now me friend?”
“Ah,” Defoe. “you know Heirs of Anderson?” Ferguson nodded. “Yes, they did the publishing of my The History of the Union and maybe they will do this next one too.”
“Daniel,” Ferguson laughed, “no one could accuse you of being much of a business man, eh? What kind of book be it then?”
“Ah,” Defoe stammered, uncertain of what to say, “it is a little different, something of an adventure story I’d say.”
“Hah, adventures and the high seas and all that rot eh? Och, you English and yer stories. Hey, they be here. Let’s play!” Defoe smiled ruefully and shuffled the cards.
They played for several hours and sipped on beer and finally it was time for Defoe to get on home.
Ferguson said, “Let me walk with ye aways. These Scottish, ye never know when they will take a dislike to an Englishman and throw something at ye.” Defoe agreed and they walked together.
“How long ye think ye be in Scotland, Daniel?’
“Ah, can’t be completely sure of that.” Defoe commented. “The wife still misses London and her family and will be happy to be going back. I am not sure how long the Parliament members and church members will want to be hearing from the likes of me.”
“Ah, yer too humble man,” Ferguson was saying. “Meself, I would be missing your sorry English face.”
“Thank you Ferguson, you have been a good friend whilst I have been here away from home.”
The two men walked in companionable silence the rest of the way. “Next week then?” Ferguson asked.
“Aye, next week tis,” responded Defoe and went into his large town house.
Later that evening, Defoe was feeling strangely restless and told his wife he would take an after-dinner stroll.
“Isn’t it a bit late for that my dear?” she chastised lightly.
“Ah, indigestion methinks,” he nodded and patted his stomach. She went back to her embroidery.
Defoe stepped out into the crisp fall air and was glad of his warm wool jacket. He had his pipe with him and stopped to light it and look upwards at the bits of stars he could still see through scuttling clouds. Pipe lit, he strolled down the cobblestones and could hear the clack, clack of his own boot heels echoing back to him. The street lamps were still lit as it was yet early evening.
He was ruminating about his life and not quite watching where he was walking and realized he had unthinkingly turned down a little side alley he had not been down before. He was just turning to back to the main road when a dark figure unfastens itself as from the wall and got in front of him.
“Pennies good sir, pennies?” it pleaded sticking a dirty hand in his face.
Defoe backed away from the smell in surprise. The woman was of an indeterminate age and dressed in ragged black clothing from top to toe and all of it torn, patched and frayed. The fingers sticking out of once elegant half-gloves were grubby and the fingernails dirty. There was a desperate almost visceral intensity to the woman and he could almost smell fear oozing from her pores.
The once red hair was tied up in a jumble on her head and the face, if not for the dirt and the animal look in her eyes, might have even been pretty.
“I, I…….I don’t think,” Defoe was fumbling desperately in his vest pocket for some change he thought he had put there. He was walking backwards away from the woman.
“Please sir, for the hungry,” the woman said again. At this point Defoe thought he saw another dark figure emerging from the dark some feet behind the woman.
He fingers lighted on a coin in the lower part of his pocket. He grabbed it and threw it over the woman’s head into the street.
“There’s for you and your friend and be off with yea,” he shouted and turned on his heel and practically ran back to the street and hustled himself all the way home. Back at the rental house he ran up the steps and flew through the front door and slammed it behind him, panting.
“Is that you dearest?” he could hear his wife calling to him.
“Yes, my dear, home again. Got to do some work upstairs.”
He ran up the stairs to his study and closed the door and collapsed in his chair. The beggar had frightened him. He had to stop and think about it. It wasn’t just being lost in a strange part of the city that had frightened him or even thinking about physical harm; it was that desperation in her eyes and the fear.
He knew that fear, knew it himself. With debts and debts, Defoe never felt like he got his head above water before getting pulled down again. He worked like a dog and yet the memory of his brief stint in debtor’s prison never left him. The fear of losing all he had and going back there was a demon always lurking at the back of his mind.
He put is head down on his desk and an uncontrollable sob came out, tears fell on his sleeve. He really wasn’t a very good at business and time and time again had proved that. He stayed there for some minutes then pulled his head up and wiped his eyes. He reached for the bible that he always kept close by and opened to his favorite chapter and began to read.