05 The House of Lamentations by S. G. MacLean

Author:S. G. MacLean [MacLean, S. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781787473645
Publisher: Quercus Editions Ltd
Published: 2020-05-21T08:15:30+00:00

Fifteen

Hiding Places

Thomas Faithly had breakfasted early and left the Bouchoute House before any of his companions were awake. He had never slept well in the heat and was glad at last to be out in the light rather than tossing and turning through the darkness of the night. The impending arrival of the expected visitor to the Bouchoute House was also preying on his mind. At least out of doors the breeze could be felt, and the sun was just starting to creep up over the horizon. He wanted time to think and space to do it in. He headed outwards from the Markt towards the walls and water that ringed the city.

A good bit before its outer edges, Bruges became a garden city, and the bustle of town life gave way to the sounds of countryside. The rhythm of myriad mill blades as they creaked in the wind above the canal relaxed him and helped the clarity of his thinking as he walked. Rumours had reached Bruges that Cromwell was ill. And then what? Perhaps God was finally taking issue with things in England, perhaps the tide was indeed about to turn. He had no doubt that that would be Mr Longfellow’s message when he came. Perhaps Thomas would at last be able to go home.

He’d been following the outer ring of walls and windmills of the city for some time and was almost at the Smedenpoort in the south-west when, to his surprise, he saw George Barton emerge from a street off to his left. He lifted an arm and called out, ‘Barton.’

Barton appeared not to have heard him and so Thomas called again. This time, after the briefest of hesitations, his fellow Englishman did seem to realise that it was he who was being hailed and looked his way, smiling and lifting his arm in response a moment later.

‘What brings you to this part of town at so early an hour?’

‘I might ask you the same question,’ George answered.

Thomas told him briefly of his restlessness, and his desire to be away from the hubbub of town.

‘Then we are afflicted by the same ailment,’ George said.

They walked on together in companionable silence for a few minutes and then Thomas said, ‘Do you miss home, Barton?’

George stopped for a moment, as if to consider. ‘Not unduly,’ he said at last. ‘My father is long dead, and I never really got on with my mother.’

‘You have no wife or sweetheart waiting for your return?’

‘No,’ said George, and walked on, as if he had nothing more to say on the matter. But then he stopped again. ‘I did love a girl once, a long, long time ago. Before the war, even, if you can imagine that. Her father had the living of the church in our local village. My father had the patronage of the church and so my mother regarded the vicar and his family as little more than menials. When she learned of my affection for Elizabeth, she made sure her father would never allow my suit.

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