Candace Robb - The Fire In The Flint

Back in the prioress’s parlour she watched understanding dawn on the faces of Agnes and her kinsman.

‘They would feel far too exposed down here,’ Thomas said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘I am grateful to you, Dame Christiana.’

The prioress smiled benignly and commended Christiana for her clever scheme.

As Margaret made her way home from St John’s Kirk she pondered what it would take to know her own heart, and it seemed to her that she must decide whether or not she trusted Roger. There was Aylmer as well — she no longer considered him insolent, but rather unaware that there was more to playing a servant than being called one. He was not the actor that James was. If he was so unprepared for the role she might learn much from his belongings. She would search them.

Celia was sitting in the doorway to the yard, using the daylight to mend a tear in one of Margaret’s worn gowns. ‘You’ll be thirsty,’ she said, moving to set aside her work.

Margaret shook her head. ‘I’m going to search Aylmer’s chamber. If anyone appears, come for me.’

Celia bowed her head. ‘Have a care, Mistress.’

Margaret nodded and went within, hurrying up to her chamber for her tools. Back down in the hall she lit a piece of kindling from the hearth fire, and then crossed to the small chamber in the rear in which Jack and Fergus had worked on accounts and letters. Lifting the hide that covered the doorway, she lit the lamp on the shelf just within and looked around. She found Aylmer’s travelling casket and pack beneath the small work-table. Lifting the casket to the table, she set to work picking the lock. Her trembling hands slowed her but the simple lock was soon opened.

Within were daggers, a small cache of coins, a jewelled belt, and a wallet like the one she had found in Roger’s casket, filled with rolled documents. She sat back on her heels and examined the rolls in the wallet. All but one were sealed; the opened one bore Roger’s name as well as what she thought might be a form of the name Bruce. She stared at the casket, willing it to reveal more. And in a little while it did, for she realised that the casket was not as deep within as it was from without. But there were no legs, nor was there a bottom compartment. She set to prodding and poking what must be a false bottom. With persistence she shifted it enough to insert a finger and pop it out. Beneath were more coins and several documents with broken seals — English royal seals. Setting those aside, she replaced the false bottom with care and then repacked the casket.

She would take these and the two from Roger’s casket to Ada, who read as well as any priest. In fact she would do it now. She gathered the documents and went out into the town with them hidden beneath a cloth in her market basket.

At the Northgate crossing, she spied Fergus talking to an acquaintance a few doors from Matilda’s. She nodded to him as he noticed her and was surprised when he quit the man and hurried towards her. His face was livid.

‘We were close to starving and all the while he was hoarding coin!’ he blurted.

Margaret glanced about uneasily. ‘Who?’ she asked softly. ‘What coin?’ She listened with increasing perplexity as he told her of his visitors. ‘Does it not mean that Ruthven wants to recover a debt, rather than that Da is hoarding?’ she asked. ‘Has he paper to prove it?’

‘Two men, Maggie, two days in a row, and Ruthven said others would accompany him tomorrow.’ Fergus shook his head. ‘Da is up to no good, you can be sure.’

Thinking of the royal seals on the documents she carried in her market basket, and her father’s name in the text, she said, ‘I’m on an errand that might prove enlightening. Be patient, I pray you. And I have found a travelling companion for you.’

He had resumed his complaints but her last comment caught his attention. ‘How soon does he leave?’

‘In a few days.’

Fergus cursed. ‘More waiting. Who is this companion?’

‘We really should not talk of such things out here in the street.’

‘The body’s gone from the warehouse. Did Roger take it?’

Margaret hushed him. ‘Come to the house first thing in the morning, after Roger departs. I hope to have much to tell you.’

‘I mean to be gone by the time Ruthven returns.’

‘Lock up Da’s house and bide with us.’

Fergus hunched his shoulders. ‘You tell me nothing.’

‘I’ll tell you all I know. I pray you, be patient.’

He wagged his head, a gesture that could mean many things. ‘I’m expected at Matilda’s.’

‘Will you come to me in the morning?’ Margaret asked, uneasy about his mood.

‘If you have much to tell me I’d be a fool not to, eh?’ He forced a smile, but his eyes were sullen as he left her.

Puzzling over how she might have better handled her brother, Margaret continued on to Ada’s. But she was met with frustration. Ada had gone out with her niece and the child to visit an ailing friend. Margaret told the servant that she would return in the morning.

In the end, Fergus did not dine with Matilda. He had not the constitution to accept two humiliations in one day. On his arrival he discovered one of Matilda’s old sweethearts seated in the hall, regaling her with tales of his adventures in Edward Longshanks’s ranks. Her blue eyes were fixed on his suntanned face, sounds from her lovely throat expressing awe at every pause. She was enraptured by a traitor. Fergus was doubly shamed, by his lack of experience and his stupidity in falling in love with such a witless woman. He could not bear another night in Perth, no matter what Maggie had to tell him. In late afternoon he collected his travelling pack from Maggie’s stable and was off north.

After Roger left for the warehouses in the morning Margaret lingered in the hall waiting for Fergus. She hoped his tardiness was a sign that he had stayed late with Matilda. To while away the time she engaged Celia in helping her hang the largest of Christiana’s tapestries.

Quiet at first, her dark eyes pensive, Celia eventually broke her silence to ask whether Margaret dreaded the return of the English soldiers. Margaret was about to answer when Celia continued.

‘Will they take an interest in Smyth’s death? Do we have anything to fear?’

‘They must control the townsfolk for the safety of their men, so they’ll mark anything unusual. I’m certain they’ll hear the rumour and come to question Fergus,’ Margaret said. She explained Roger’s reasoning about the surreptitious burial. She understood Celia’s sceptical expression, for it seemed less useful each time she recounted it. It was plain that she had not managed to reassure Celia. Margaret was sorry to leave her with such concerns, but she was anxious to take the documents to Ada and learn their contents for she must know the nature of her father’s business with Longshanks. ‘If Fergus comes, tell him I’ll not be long away,’ she said.

Ada answered her knock, elegant in her silk gown but too impatient to wait for a servant to open the door. Seeing something in Margaret’s demeanour, she guided her in by the arm and closed the door. ‘What has happened?’ She lifted Margaret’s chin so that she could clearly see her face. ‘You look as if you’re about to have a spell.’ She touched one of Margaret’s hands. ‘And you’re cold despite the day.’

‘I’m in no danger of fainting.’ Margaret was sorry to have caused Ada concern, but she did not wish to spend the visit reassuring her. ‘I hoped you might read some papers to me. I’ve learned to read a little, but only enough to confuse myself.’ She glanced at Ada’s niece, who was rocking the baby’s cradle with one foot as she spun wool. ‘Might we talk where we would not be heard?’