“Did he gang oot wi’ his family, they’re right reivers?” Dodd asked.
“I don’t think so, he’d fallen out with his father.”
“Who did he go with?”
“He went alone with one remount,” said Anricks. “That’s what his wife says in her letter to me. Of course he could have met friends later. But he went wearing his best suit and carrying a crossbow and his sword, which was why she wasn’t too concerned. It would have been a different matter if he’d worn harness and helmet of course.”
Dodd nodded. “Mebbe he had his jack and helmet somewhere else…”
Anricks shook his head. “They’re still at Wendron, in a press in his study.”
Dodd was silent. “Was he going to kill someone?” he asked at last. “Mebbe my lord Spynie? Someone took a shot at him last month?”
Anricks frowned. “Why would he do that? Why take such a risk?”
Dodd shrugged. “Somebody wis paying him, perhaps?”
Anricks nodded wearily. His mouth was turned down at the ends, as if he had a bad taste in it. “I’m not sure why he suddenly needed money, but he did. I wish I’d…Well, I didn’t. And there’s a rumour he went to see Kerr of Cessford a week before he went out as well.”
Dodd let out a humourless bark of laughter. “Ay,” he said, “they’re all murdering bastards too. And the Burns. I’ve tangled wi’ them mesen. And Kerrs sometimes ally with Elliots.”
The commonroom suddenly started filling up with Widdringtons, followed by Sir Henry and his son who seemed upset about something.
“Sir,” he was saying, “will ye not give the man an answer?”
“I’ll answer when I please, boy. If my fool of a wife hadn’t taken it into her empty head to ride intae Scotland she wouldna be costing me a hundred pounds English now, would she? She can sit it out for a while.”
Sir Henry marched to the bar and ordered aqua vitae and pointedly got none for his son. Young Henry’s face was swelling a little and his brows were down. He got his own ale and Dodd went up to him immediately.
“Sir,” he said, “have ye had a ransom demand?”
Young Henry looked weary as well. “One of the Burns’ boys came in with it. We’ll swap at the Reidswire meeting stone, each side just five men and the woman on her horse, and a hundred pounds English in exchange.”
“Ay. Does her husband have the money?” It wasn’t excessive for the wife of a headman, but it was still a lot of money.
“No, of course not,” muttered Young Henry. “Who does? Spynie does, of course, and has offered my father a loan at twenty percent interest a week, secured on one of his sheilings and the pasture.”
“Ay,” said Dodd noncommittally.
“I suppose Father will roar a bit and then take the loan, to pay them off.”
“So it’s the Burns that have her?”
“Yes. Jock Burn must have come up with the idea at the funeral and bought Ekie and Sim so he could do it.”
“Ay,” Dodd was uneasy. He had found aristocrats had less ready cash than headmen. How come my lord Spynie was so flush he could lend a hundred pounds cash to Sir Henry? Unless…“Sir, do ye not think it’s a bit odd, Spynie having the ready cash?”
Young Henry took a drink of his ale and looked at his hands. His nails were bitten. “Now you mention it, Sergeant, that is odd.”
“What if the Burns are doing Spynie’s bidding?” Because now he came to think of it, Spynie would want revenge for how Lady Widdrington had outmanoevred him in the summer and lost him some of the King’s favour and this was a splendid way to take it. And if something went wrong at the exchange and the woman wound up dead, well, who would care? Not Sir Henry, although there was a man with a bad tooth in Carlisle who would surely take it very hard. Dodd’s eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down.
“Which boy was it?” he asked.
“Geordie Burn’s eldest son, Young Geordie.”
“Is it possible Sir Henry could have known about Lady Widdrington getting kidnapped? Before it happened?” he asked very softly. Because once you thought about the loan and Spynie being around and the clear fact that Sir Henry didn’t like his wifey, you also had to ask if this was Sir Henry’s revenge as well. Didn’t you?
Young Henry stared at the fire and said nothing. His mouth had turned down as well and his eyes were hot.
“Do you think…?” he began, and then fell silent again.
“Well it’s possible,” Dodd said gently, “isn’t it?”
“And the Burns would get the blame which they wouldn’t care about.” Young Henry’s voice was very soft but there was a hard undertone. “Nor my father. The King probably wouldn’t care enough to do anything.”
“Ay,” said Dodd. “It’s a problem solved, that it is.”
Another long silence. “She came to us when she was just seventeen and I was ten,” Young Henry said, “Ten years ago. And she has tried, lord God she has tried to be a good wife to Sir Henry, no matter how he treats her. She was wonderful to us, to me and Roger. She never beat us, she…she…used to…even hug me when I was sad for my mother, though I wisnae her wean and she…she looked after me when I got the measles and my eyes hurt and I was scared I’d go blind and…”
Dodd tactfully went to the bar to get more ale, though frankly the stuff they were drinking in Scotland was dire. Sir Henry was shouting at some of his older men who were gathered round him, laughing. On a thought, he also bought some uisge beagh that was cheaper than brandy and brought it over.
Young Henry took the horn cup, lifted it in his father’s direction and drank it off.
“The only thing is, how do we find out where she is exactly?”
“Find her horse, it’s a nice jennet called Mouse and shod.”
Anricks came by then and they made room for him at the table. He bought a round and sat down, his anxious face quite unreadable. Purely on instinct, and in the hope of there being more than two on the raid, Dodd told him what they thought about the ransom demand.
He, too, was silent for a while and then he nodded. “Yes,” was all he said.
He felt for something on his belt and then realised that it was in his pack. A minute later he had paper on the table and was writing at high speed in a neat italic that said he was a good clerk as well as a barber surgeon.
“What are ye doing?”
“I am writing to my lord Maitland, his castle’s not far away and I can send it by a town messenger. Maitland’s the Lord Chancellor.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Young Henry. “She knows him and she looked after his son for him a few years ago when things were a mite tickle in Scotland. We taught him to shoot and he taught us to tickle trout.”
Anricks just nodded and continued to write, which gave Dodd the feeling he had already known that about Lady Widdrington, which was interesting. But then if he was working as a pursuivant for Sir Robert Cecil, you’d expect him to be well-informed.
“When is the exchange to be?”
“Day after tomorrow,” said Young Henry, “to give Sir Henry time to get the money.”
“So she’s likely safe enough till then,” said Dodd. “They’ll be on their guard, but if it’s a put up job, they willna expect much.”
“We aren’t much,” said Young Henry, with a nervous laugh.
“Ay, we are,” said Dodd.
“Gentlemen, there is almost certainly at least one Widdrington in Geordie Burn’s pay to act as his spy, so shall we leave the subject?”
“Tonight,” said Dodd. Young Henry looked up at him and then nodded once, Anricks opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again. He nodded as well.
Wednesday 18th October 1592
Elizabeth had lice, probably from Jimmy Tait, and was already tired of the smell of her only shift. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was since she had been brough
t to the peel tower with a scarf over her eyes and her horse on a leading rein. It was Geordie Burn that brought her in, a big man with black hair and a loud hectoring way with him. He was frightening because he seemed always to be laughing at some private joke at her expense and because he came up too close to her and grinned in her face. However she had long experience at thinking when she was frightened and also at acting a lot stupider than she was.
So she made sure she asked plenty of silly questions about where were they taking her and why where they doing it and her husband would be angry and what were they thinking of and so on and so forth until Geordie shouted at her to be silent. She immediately went silent in what she hoped was a cowed way. It wasn’t hard to do, she was frightened of Geordie Burn quite viscerally, and her hands were cold.
When they took the scarf off and helped her down from her horse, she wanted to protest because Mouse was a friend and she had no others. She said nothing while Geordie Burn gestured for her to go into the barnekin and into the peel tower and the horse was taken off, protesting, to the winter pasture on the other side of the valley.
They were quite polite really. Ralph o’ the Coates wasn’t there, being busy selling horses in Edinburgh. A boy called Young Geordie was sent off with the message about the ransom to Jedburgh where Geordie said the Widdringtons were. There were a lot of Burns there, some of them she even recognised from the funeral. Jemmy and Archie Burn had been to it, she realised, and several others. Archie Burn was friendly to her and showed her his sword which was different from the general run of northern broadswords. His was a thinner blade with a basket hilt, almost a rapier, though very sharp.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, trying to sound admiring, “but it doesn’t look English or Scots.”
“Nor it isnae,” laughed Archie, “that’s Cordoba steel and I got it off a Spaniard when I wis fighting in the Netherlands. The Spaniard had nae further use for it.” He laughed again and showed with a slicing flourish of the blade what had happened to the Spaniard.
Elizabeth looked at him carefully. Yes, he and his father fitted the description of the men that had killed Jamie Burn and yes, he had a blade that could have done it, she thought, though she was no expert. Jemmy had a long narrow poignard, too—but then so did several others of the men. And why would the Burns kill one of their own? Even if they had fallen out, you didn’t kill the men of your own family, you just didn’t.
There was a whole collection of louring toughs with many Burns among them and some Taits and Pringles and Kerrs as well. She got an acknowledgement from Jamie Burn’s Uncle Jock who rode in with three stolen cows at midday, taking off his hat to her as he rode by.
At least they had a woman there for propriety. In fact, it was Geordie and Jamie Burn’s mother, a faded woman called Maud with grey blond hair under her grubby cap, and wearing a homespun kirtle but a tailor-made woollen gown that was Edinburgh work. The peel tower was an old one, clearly not the main Burn tower, and smelled of mildew and mice. Still she and Maud tried their best to make it habitable with blankets that Maud had brought, which they hung up by the fire that smoked terribly until a crow’s nest fell down the chimney in flames.
Then she sat with Maud in the upper chamber of the peel tower and sewed some shirts with her which was soothing and gave her something to do with her hands. One of the louring toughs came up the ladder to the upper chamber with some partly cooked lumps of cow and some oatmeal but she had no stomach to any of it and gave it to Maud.
She listened and said “mm” and “fancy that” and “tut tut” while Maud Burn, who had been a Pringle and had had a hard but successful life with only two babies dead and four sons and a daughter raised, chatted about kine and their diseases, and horses and their many and various diseases and how disastrous the harvest had been.
As the Sun went low in the afternoon, Elizabeth heard hoofbeats and went to the arrowslit to see Geordie Burn setting off with about fifteen men, heading north and east. There goes the ambush in case Sir Henry tries a rescue, she thought and wondered if he would. She didn’t know. He might, though for pride not love of course, or perhaps he wouldn’t. He would pay up, though, surely? Everyone in the East March would laugh at him if he didn’t do something.
She went and sat down next to Maud by the smoky fire, on an old and uncomfortable stool and heard that Geordie wouldn’t be back until morning, the young scamp, but that Ralph was due back any day now with the money from the horses which they needed to buy horse fodder since the harvest had been so terrible, rained on to ruination.
“Ours was bad too,” Elizabeth commiserated. There was still some light to see by and she kept stitching the long seam down the side. They talked about harvests and weather.
At last Elizabeth got to say she was sorry about Minister Jamie, Maud’s second son, and what a mystery his death was. Maud went silent for a long time and Elizabeth pretended not to see the tears brimming in her eyes.
“Ay,” whispered Maud, “but it was like he wis dead seven years ago, when he went tae the university at St Andrew’s. His father was gey angry wi’ him. And he was such a bonny young man, such a bonny fighter.”
“Mm.”
“They had a fight over it and Jamie won. His father couldna forgive him for that, though I said tae him, whit de ye expect, he’s young and ye’re old.”
“Did he disinherit him?”
“No, Jamie still has his rights…had his rights to his share o’ the land. And his child too, if it’s a boy.”
“Oh.” That was normal. North and South on the Border, the farms were divided and divided as the families bred so you couldn’t live on them. The system further south, where the eldest son got all of it, was unfair to the younger sons like Robin himself, but you could see how it kept the estates together. It was better for the families.
“And then last month, well, Geordie was fit to be tied about it, so he was.”
“Why? What about?”
“I’m not sure, but…ay, I’m worried.”
“Mrs Burn, what was it Geordie was so angry about?”
Maud hung her head over the shirt of coarse homespun linen. At last she said, “I’m no’ sure, see ye, but I think Jamie tried to kill somebody important. A courtier.”
“Why?”
Maud shook her head. “Ah dinna ken. Somebody important. Very important. And he failed, did Jamie, didnae kill the man at all. And then the man came to see Geordie, came himself with men at his back, all shining wi’ silver and gold, and they went off and talked for a long while and then…three weeks later, my Jamie war deid.”
All Elizabeth could think of to say was “Ah.”
Maud was weeping silently into the shirt on her knee. Elizabeth was still for a moment and then she put down her shirt because anyway it was too dark to sew, and leaned across and put her arms around Maud who shuddered and wept into her shoulder while her hands and her heart got colder and colder.
***
At last the storm was done for the moment. “It’s worse when they’ve grown,” Maud said, wiping her eyes with the shirt. “Ye see them grow and they change and they become men and then…they die. O’ course we all die, I ken that, but I wish I could hae died instead of Jamie, he was such a fine man and I heard he did well as a minister, preached some fine sermons and had his ain little school.”
“Yes, he did, Mrs Burn, and all the boys loved him. They sang at his funeral.”
“Och, I wish I could ha gone and seen him put in the ground. Ralph wouldnae have it, he wis still sore at the beating up he took fra Jamie seven year go. But I wish I could ha’ gone and maybe heard them sing. Did they sing well?”
“Ay, they did,” said Elizabeth, her Scotch well in now, “They did like birds or angels. There’s a lad there, only young, perhaps seven or eight and he has the finest voice I’ve heard in a while, perhaps ever.” Perhaps Robin, when he was a boy, might have had a vo
ice as good? Though that didn’t necessarily follow, sometimes quite ordinary singers turned wonderful when their voices broke and sometimes the other way round.
“Ay, that’ll be a Tait,” said Maud. “They allus have good voices.”
“I think that’s what he wanted the money for, to take all the boys to the Carlisle cathedral and prentice them singers, to get them out of the Borders, you know? Especially little Jimmy Tait. His father wanted ten pounds for him.”
“Is that right?” said Maud, in a voice of wonder.“Was he going tae do that?”
“I think so. And I think I know who offered him the money to kill my Lord Spynie as well, the courtier he took a shot at.”
“Bad cess to ’em,” said Maud, scowling. “Who was it?”
“The Dowager Lady Hume. Lord Spynie’s been sniffing about her ten-year-old grandson whose wardship he’s just bought and he wants him at Court and she’s…she does not.”
“Och.” Very noticeably, Maud did not ask why going to the Scottish King’s Court as Lord Spynie’s ward might be a bad thing for a ten-year-old boy. She went silent again. By the time she spoke once more it was too dark to see and the turf fire gave some warmth but not much light. “It’s Geordie that wanted ye taken. Ye were asking too many questions. Jemmy and Archie were worried too; ye could see it. And then another message came from…from the King’s Court and he laughed his head off at it and rode out before dawn this morning to take ye.”
Who could the message have come from? Lord Spynie? Her husband? Why had Geordie found it so funny? And why had Jemmy and Archie been worried? Well, that was easy to answer and it was shocking, that’s what it was. To kill their own kinsman, Jemmy’s nephew, Archie’s cousin, on the say-so of a courtier?
“Will they kill me, d’ye think?”
Silence. What Elizabeth could see of Maud’s face was creased with worry. “He’s a terrible man, he’ll end in hell,” she burst out. “He’s allus been wicked, he used tae take the kittens the cats had and he took ’em off somewhere and I followed him once and he’d…he’d crucified them. Alive.”
A Chorus of Innocents Page 20