Ah, Christ.
As though he sensed Lindsay’s attention on him, Nicol glanced his way, pale gaze steady as Lindsay picked his way over the wet ground.
“How are you faring, Mr. Somerville?” he called out as Lindsay drew closer. He glanced down at Lindsay’s mud-caked shoes and raised a brow.
“Go on,” Lindsay said crossly. “Say, ‘I told you so.’ I know you want to.” Without waiting for an answer, Lindsay turned to the older man and held out his hand. “Lindsay Somerville. Pleased to meet you, Mr.—?”
The man blinked at his familiar tone—no doubt he’d been expecting to be ignored or at the very least talked down to by Nicol’s finely dressed companion.
“Paterson, sir,” he said, then seemed to collect himself, hurriedly wiping his own hand on his rough breeches before raising it to accept the one Lindsay had offered.
His palm was very rough, with thick callouses, but his handshake was careful, almost delicate, as though he was worried about besmirching Lindsay.
“Mr. Paterson is the master stonemason here,” Nicol said. “All of our houses are built from Craigleith sandstone. He sees to it that we have the best-dressed stone in the New Town.”
There was a protective note in Nicol’s voice—a warning, Lindsay apprehended, that he should not think of patronising or belittling Paterson, which was fair enough, given how many men of Lindsay’s apparent wealth and status would do just that.
Lindsay smiled at Paterson. “I daresay you’ll have a lot of work on just now.”
“Aye,” Paterson said, “and for the next fifty years I reckon. We’ve a whole city to build, thanks to this gentleman and his like.” He began to cough then, making a signal of apology with one hand as he turned away, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief which he held over his mouth till the brief fit passed.
“’Scuse me,” he mumbled when he turned back, tucking the handkerchief away.
Nicol appeared troubled. “Your chest is bad again?”
Paterson made a dismissive gesture. “It’s just a cough.”
“You’ve not been working the stone in the sheds again, have you?” Nicol asked, his brow furrowed. “You need to take that work outside. The dust from this stone—”
“Dinnae fuss,” Paterson said, smiling at Nicol to soften the words. “We were workin’ in the sheds durin’ that bad weather spell, but we’ll get out in the fresh air now.”
“See that you do,” Nicol said grimly. He turned to Lindsay then. “So, Mr. Somerville. Shall I show you our available plots?”
Lindsay blinked, then glanced around. “You meantheseare not the new plots?”
Nicol gave a sharp bark of laughter. “God, no. These are already sold. They will be finished much sooner than the ones I mentioned to you.” He clapped Paterson on the shoulder again. “I’ll be by again on Thursday.”
“Aye,” Paterson said, then glanced at Lindsay, offering a respectful nod. “Good day to you, Mr. Somerville.”
“And to you, Mr. Paterson.”
“Come on,” Nicol said, striding on. “It’s this way.”
Lindsay hurried after him, wincing as his shoes sank into the mud again, his foot pulling free with a dispiritingsquelch.
Nicol led him past a score of plots after that. The buildings were all of a similar design, a neoclassical elegance to them, each proportion pleasing to the eye, everything regular and symmetrical.
“These buildings are very handsome, I must say,” Lindsay said truthfully. “Are they as beautiful inside?”
Nicol nodded. “As elegant as you could wish. The cabinetmakers and haberdashers of Edinburgh are run off their feet with business.”
As they walked further on, the building activity began to peter out, each structure diminishing in size the further they went.
“We’re walking along what will eventually be the street in front of these houses,” Nicol explained, gesturing ahead of himself in a straight line. “These houses have been built north to south but the houses on the plots I’m taking you to now will be built east to west.”
They continued onwards, leaving all the workmen behind, till finally they reached a large untouched area of muddy ground. Other than a few wooden pegs roughly marking the plot boundaries, there was no sign of any activity.
“Here we are,” Nicol said. “What do you think, Mr. Somerville?”
