by Pat McIntosh
‘What about the cord round her neck?’
‘Cord? What cord? No, her neck was broke, Christie said, that was what killed her. He’d no notion who she was.’ She crossed herself. ‘I thought, well, whoever did that to her flung her down in the road like rubbish on a midden, maybe if we left her at the Cross St Mungo would take her under his protection.’
‘You tied no cord about her neck?’
‘No, have I no just said that? What are you talking about?’
‘Some time before dawn,’ Alys said deliberately, ‘someone came by and throttled the dead woman with a cord. Someone who thought they were killing her.’
Annie stared. The beaker fell from her hand, rolling across the beaten-earth floor and spilling foam. The blue eyes rolled upwards into her head, and she collapsed bonelessly sideways, onto Mistress Forrest’s broad bosom.
‘Oh, my lamb! Annie!’ the older woman exclaimed. Jennet scrambled to help her. Alys rose to snatch the plaid hanging on a nail at the back of the door and spread it out, and they lowered Annie to the ground. She was already beginning to stir, her hands twitching as if she was fighting something off. Mistress Forrest, still exclaiming, began patting her cheeks and chafing at her arms.
‘She’ll be better in a moment,’ Alys said, observing Annie’s returning colour. ‘Have you spirits in the house, mistress?’
In half an hour or so, sitting up again and sipping cautiously at a small amount of usquebae in a tiny beaker, Annie protested,
‘No, I’ve never a notion who’d ha done that. It’s just the thought of the escape I had that turned me dizzy. What if I’d no— Or Christie had been late— Oh, it doesny bear thinking on!’
‘Well, don’t think on it,’ said Jennet robustly. ‘Maybe the saint was watching out for you indeed, I’d say you owed him a candle, mem.’
‘Aye, you’re right, lass,’ said Annie, though her teeth chattered on the rim of the beaker. ‘Two candles, at the least. But no, Alys, I canny think, I’ve never a notion who might have tried to, to, who might want rid of me that bad. Our household’s all good people, Meggot hasny an ill bone in her body, my sisters are fond enough I’d ha said.’
‘Dame Ellen?’ Alys asked.
‘No, no, she was at me to accept one or other of the Muirs. I think she was to share some o my land wi them if the match went ahead, by what Meggot hearkened one time when they thought they were all alone in the yard. So that wouldny be like, she’d still be hoping I might come round.’
‘Is there no still that cousin o your faither’s, my lamb?’ said Mistress Forrest, straightening up from the hearth. ‘What was his name, now? I canny mind.’
‘What cousin?’ Annie stared at her nurse.
‘Och, him that made all the outcry when your faither gied you the land, at your marriage, Our Lady grant him rest. Specially for the bit wi the quarry on it.’
‘Hallrig, you mean? I don’t mind that. I wonder if Sir Edward and my own daddy dealt with it all?’
‘Aye, Hallrig. Likely they did, you were naught but a wee lassie. Any road, he made a great stushie, this kinsman, about the land going out the Gibb family, which was a right laugh as we said at the time seeing he wasny a Gibb neither. Just afore I was wedded and left the household, that was,’ said Mistress Forrest sadly, ‘and the most o them I’ve never seen since.’
Alys murmured in sympathy, and set this aside for later consideration.
‘Once you left the Cross,’ she said, ‘and Peg tied to it, poor woman—’
‘Is that her name?’ Annie crossed herself, and murmured a swift prayer.
‘Did you come straight here?’
‘Aye, they did,’ said Mistress Forrest, ‘all arranged, it was, your doctor man had sent a laddie to warn me, so I kent it was for that night, and I was sitting up watching and waiting for them. Right quiet it was, and all, by that time. There was all the outcry the prentices made in their battle, and then all the folk going home from the alehouses, and then it was silent as the grave after that, till I heard them on the path, and then Annie said my name at the door.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
Annie shook her head.
‘There was none stirring. We went from shadow to shadow, you understand, once we were out of the kirkyard, and both of us wi our ears stretched for the Watch and anyone else we might need to hide from, but there was none afoot.’ She shut her eyes, the better to remember. ‘One or two dogs barking, here and there a bairn waking inside a house. Some fellow wi a handcart. A couple arguing ahint their shutters.’ She opened her eyes. ‘And then we were here, and Eppie had hot water and shears and comb waiting.’ She ran a hand through the short curls. ‘I’ll ha to find me a priest, to seek absolution from the vow, but Our Lady kens, it’s good to be clean.’
‘Och, it was foolishness,’ said Mistress Forrest comfortably. ‘You’ll be easy let off it, they should never ha let you swear such a daft thing. It’s no as if you washed yoursel, after all, it was me got you clean, just as I did when you were still in tail-clouts, and clipped your hair and combed out all the wee louses.’
Alys met Annie’s eye, but did not comment. It was clear the other girl was aware, if her nurse was not, of the serious nature of her position: a broken oath was perjury, no matter what the circumstances of its breaking.
‘What did the doctor do?’ she asked.
‘He went back to the hostel, to his duties.’ Annie drew a deep breath. ‘Alys, what do I do now? Should I go to them, to the household? My sisters will be needing me, and I’d like— I’d like a last word wi our daddy if he yet lives. Forbye easing their concern for me.’
‘Och, my lamb—’ began Mistress Forrest.
‘You could come wi me, Eppie. I’d be glad of it, in fact.’
‘I think you must,’ Alys said. ‘And I’ll come too, if I may. There are things I need to ask them all.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘I’d looked for you afore Terce,’ said Otterburn. ‘What’s all this at St Catherine’s? It’s got St Mungo’s going like a spilled byke. I’ve had the Dean sending to me afore I’d broke my fast, bidding me find the murderer by this afternoon, and a special despatch from my lord, the Stirling road must ha grooves in it by now, and you nowhere to be found.’ He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and unfolded it, to display a passage of William Dunbar’s neat secretary hand, with Blacader’s crabbed signature below it. ‘He’s to be in Glasgow this afternoon for the same meeting I’ve to find the murderer for, Christ aid us, and then he’ll pronounce the anathema and see to the reconsecration at the hostel. The most o that’s St Mungo’s concern, I hope he’s sent to the Dean as well, and our folk here ken how to prepare for my lord, but he’s expecting the King to follow him, which is no so good. Where were you, any road? Sit there and gie me your tale, and I hope it’s a good one.’
‘I was down at the shore.’ Gil drew up the stool the Provost indicated. Socrates sprawled across his feet with an ostentatious sigh. ‘Getting a word wi Stockfish Tam. Can you lend me three-four men the night? We might take the St Mungo’s thief if we’re careful.’
‘Oh, is that what you’ve been at? Aye, likely. That would be a good thing, and something to silence the Dean. We’ll get a word wi Andro about that directly. First let me hear about St Catherine’s. It’s a bad business, this, Cunningham. The woman’s lying in my storeroom, waiting till I call a quest on her. The family wants to get her in the ground, and I want to get her out my lord’s way.’
Gil summarised what he had found at the hostel. Lockhart listened attentively, his long gloomy face becoming even gloomier.
‘Inside or outside?’ he said at last.
‘Outside, I suspect,’ Gil admitted, ‘which is tiresome. It would be simpler by far if I thought one of the household was responsible, but they all speak for one another.’
‘Do they now?’
‘I think it’s genuine,’ said Gil. ‘The lassies in particular are too foolish to take their part in a plot.’
&
nbsp; ‘So who is there outside?’
Gil shrugged.
‘I’d ha said the Muirs were a good choice, but Henry tells me they were talking wi Canon Muir all evening till well after the time she died. Will Craigie’s another, but he seemed as shocked as any o the clergy by where she was killed, as well as being right squeamish over how it happened. Someone must ha come into the hostel, but who it was I canny guess.’
‘And nobody heard this door go? This door that makes an almighty thump when it closes?’
‘Door.’ Gil stared at the Provost, his mouth falling open. Closing it, he shook his head. ‘That was it. That was certainly it. Something was troubling me last night, something out of frame, you ken? We were standing in the yard at St Catherine’s, and the door was going like a weaver’s shuttle, and never a thump or a bang to be heard.’
‘So anybody could ha been in and out of the hostel at any time,’ said Otterburn intelligently.
‘I’d say so.’
‘I’ve had a look at her – this latest corp. Seems to me someone lost their heid wi her,’ Otterburn said, playing with one of the seals on his desk. ‘Had she other acquaintance in Glasgow?’
‘I need to establish that the day, no to mention what else she was up to, what her intentions were concerning Annie. I suspect she believed the girl was hiding somewhere and would turn up again unharmed, whatever she said when she spoke to me.’
‘It’s my belief and all,’ Otterburn admitted. ‘The lassie must ha had accomplices, they’ve carried her off somewhere secure.’ He set the seal down on the desk with a click. ‘Where will you hunt next? We’re short o time, Cunningham, you realise that I hope.’
‘I might call on my uncle,’ said Gil. ‘He’ll take offence if I don’t keep him abreast of the tale anyway, and he might have useful information.’
‘I heard it was well chewed through at Chapter this morning,’ said Otterburn obliquely. ‘No to mention this special session, this afternoon.’ You’re well informed, thought Gil without surprise. ‘Now what’s this about down the shore? What’s Stockfish Tam up to now?’
Stepping in at the kitchen door of Canon Cunningham’s house stone house on Rottenrow, Gil found his uncle’s housekeeper Maggie Baxter inspecting a vast sausage which she had just hauled dripping from its cauldron of broth. Several other members of the household stood about the kitchen table admiring the object on its platter and savouring its rich aroma. Shining pools of fat gathered about it, reflecting the firelight.
‘Aye, it’s done,’ pronounced Maggie. ‘Away up the stair and set the table. Is that you, Maister Gil? Set another place, Matt.’
Canon Cunningham’s taciturn body-servant raised a hand in acknowledgement as he turned towards the stair. Gil made for Maggie and kissed her broad red cheek in greeting.
‘Away wi you,’ she said, elbowing him off. ‘How are you, Maister Gil? How’s Mistress Alys? Away wi you and all,’ she added to Socrates. ‘Here, William, cut me a crust for the big dog, there’s a good laddie.’
‘She’s well.’ Gil watched as the kitchen boy obeyed, and signalled to his dog to accept the offered hunk of bread. ‘That’s a magnificent pudding, Maggie, but will it go round one more? I could do wi a word wi the old man.’
‘Aye, there’s plenty kale to sup wi it. What, is it about this business at St Catherine’s? I should think so. He’s right put out you haveny been round afore now asking his advice.’
This proved to be true. Once Grace had been said and the pudding cut into rich, spicy portions, the whole matter of the three deaths and Annie Gibb’s disappearance had to be gone over, in minute detail, before Canon Cunningham was mollified. Conversation down the table was stilled while the whole household, Maggie, Matt and the other servants, listened avidly to Gil’s account.
‘A very bad business,’ said the Canon when it was ended. He set his spoon neatly in his bowl. ‘Indeed, it amounts to a series of attacks on Holy Kirk itsel. Chapter was extremely difficult this morning, even without taking the matter of the sacrilege at St Catherine’s.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Gil. His uncle shot him a sharp look, but went on,
‘But are all these separate? We have,’ he enumerated on long fingers, ‘theft from the Almoner’s stores, apparently by one of St Mungo’s own servants, and the death of the same servant somewhere about the Cathedral lands. We have the loosing of a supplicant to St Mungo, a very dangerous matter, and her replacement by a dead whore. Whatever the Dean thinks of that form of supplication,’ he added, in a tone which gave some insight into the way in which Chapter had been difficult, ‘these are both serious offences. And finally, and worst of all, we have a woman, whom we can assume to have been defenceless, done to death by violence in a consecrated place. These are all crimes against Holy Kirk, but are they separate crimes, or all part of one campaign?’
The conversation further down the board had turned to an argument about whether the procedure required at St Catherine’s was exorcism or not, and Gil realised that his uncle had switched to Latin.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ he answered, in the same language. ‘I had assumed they are separate, because I see no way in which they are all connected, other than in time. That is, they have all happened in the past—’ He stopped in amazement. ‘The past two days. They may be connected, but I don’t see how.’
His uncle considered the empty platter before him for a time, then said,
‘The man Barnabas was presumably killed by his accomplice.’
‘My thought too.’
‘But who was that?’
‘I suspect it was one of the songmen, but I have no way of knowing which. They all live beyond their means, and all those I have spoken to were indignant about the theft from their stores as well as from the Almoner’s. I don’t even know for certain where the man was killed.’
Canon Cunningham nodded, his lean face below the black felt coif still intent on the congealed fat on the platter.
‘And the St Mungo’s Cross matter,’ he said. ‘How are Steenie Muir’s young kinsmen involved? Poor fellow, he is much distressed by the events at St Catherine’s, feeling he is in some way responsible for the death of the woman.’ His tone spoke volumes about the idea. ‘I remember his cousin Dandy, the father of these boys, who was a wild fellow in his youth. I believe Steenie had hopes that one of them might wed the missing woman.’
‘That appears to be so,’ Gil agreed. ‘Will Craigie the song-man has been promoting the match. I believe there is some agreement to mutual profit if it goes ahead.’
‘I can well believe it,’ said his uncle. ‘I have observed that William is perennially short of funds, and for good cause.’
Gil waited a moment, but when the Canon said no more he went on, ‘I do not think the brothers abducted Annie themselves, though I suppose they could have ordered it done. Canon Muir tells me he saw them to bed in person, after spending the evening talking with them.’
His uncle surveyed him with an eye as grey as St Columba’s.
‘Steenie Muir,’ he said with care, ‘fell asleep in Chapter this morning, in the midst of the discussion of the matter. The Dean was explaining to us how we felt about the custom when he began snoring. If he can sleep through the Dean explaining something on which he feels strongly, he can sleep through two young men leaving the house to go drinking.’
‘Oh,’ said Gil, and felt the case shift round him like ice on a half-thawed pond. ‘Oh!’
‘Precisely,’ said Canon Cunningham. He glanced at the windows. ‘Here, is that the time?’ he said in Scots. ‘I’ll be late for Chapter. You ken Robert Blacader’s to be there?’
‘His first outriders were arriving as I left the Castle,’ Gil began, and was interrupted by a furious knocking at the house door.
‘Maister Cunningham!’ a voice was shouting. ‘Are you there, Maister Cunningham? That lassie’s turned up! The stinking lassie’s come home!’
‘We sent straight to the Provost from here,’ said Alys. She tucked on
e hand into Gil’s, and stroked Socrates’ head with the other. ‘He must have sent his man out direct to find you. I wish you had seen them,’ she admitted, watching the Shaw household reunited on the other side of the hostel dining hall. ‘You’d be in no doubt but they were pleased to see her. Look at them now.’
Gil nodded. It had begun to rain again, heavy drops rattling on the shutters and the horn upper panes of the hall windows, but the mood inside was sunny. Even Lockhart was smiling, and looked as if a part of his burden had been lifted. His sisters-in-law were still almost hysterical with relief and delight, and Annie Gibb herself, in her ill-fitting borrowed garments, clearly felt this was a homecoming. The woman Meggot was mopping at her eyes with the tail of her linen headdress, the serving men were grinning, and Sir Simon, summoned from his darker considerations, was reciting a Te Deum before the crucifix. Well, he could hardly go into the chapel to give thanks, Gil thought grimly, and was startled to recognise their own maidservant Jennet at Meggot’s elbow, part of the rejoicing.
‘Has the doctor been told?’ he asked. ‘Can he leave his patient?’
‘Not yet,’ Alys said. ‘That is, he knows, and he came to the door of the men’s hall and spoke, but he is waiting until Sir Edward sleeps a little before he comes away. I think they are very much in love,’ she added.
‘What, Sir Edward and—’
‘No!’ She was laughing, realising he was teasing her. ‘Annie and her doctor. They hardly spoke, only looked, and then she came away.’
‘And you tell me he knew where she was?’ Gil reviewed the several conversations he had had with Doctor Januar. ‘Aye, he never lied to me, he simply concealed the truth.’
‘And when I spoke to him too,’ she agreed.
Behind them the door of the dining hall opened. Annie broke off what she was saying and turned; Doctor Januar smiled at her, faintly, reassuringly, and bowed to Gil.
‘I think you must have questions for me,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Annie to my patient, and come back here.’