Pat McIntosh - The Fourth Crow

‘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 one 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.’