Pat McIntosh - The Fourth Crow

‘That was in the afternoon of that same day,’ Gil said. ‘Dame Ellen must have been newly arrived in Glasgow.’

‘Then how did she know the man?’ Alys wondered. ‘What did they argue about?’

‘I know!’ said Lowrie. ‘Barnabas kept saying he tellt the woman that he wouldny have an eye to what happened at the Cross. You mind? When we were called to the dead woman?’

‘So he did,’’ recalled Gil. ‘I took it he was talking about Annie herself, but it must ha been Dame Ellen. Likely she accosted him, asked him to watch, and got an earful.’

‘Oh, yes!’ said Lowrie. ‘He’d never have obliged anyone like that. More than my place is worth ,’ he quoted, and grimaced.

‘And then he dropped the cord and she insisted on keeping it.’ Alys was nodding. ‘It fits better, Gil. It explains why he went looking for her, and why she killed him.’ She made a face. ‘You know, when I spoke of crows, I did not expect Berthold to be the fourth crow. The one who was not there at all.’

Gil turned his head as two figures passed the window. The house door opened and closed, and there was a scratching at the chamber door.

‘Maister Gil?’ It was Euan. ‘There’s a chiel here for you from Canon Muir’s house, he was getting a crack with us in the kitchen and now he is wishing to get a word wi you. I tellt him you were busy and private,’ he went on importantly, ‘but he’ll not listen. Will I be sending him away?’

‘No, you will not,’ said Gil, on a reflex. ‘I’ll come out. Who is it?’

It was the man Nory, neat in his dark blue garments, with his bundle at his feet, and he had come to take service with Gil.

‘You’ve put an end to my service wi the Muirs, maister,’ he said reasonably, ‘and it was very clear to me when I seen you afore that you’ve need o a man to see to your garments. So I’ve heard about your household, and here I am, and I’ll ha the same as you pay this fellow,’ he nodded at Euan, still listening suspiciously from across the hall, ‘and my keep, and a new suit o clothes at New Year.’

‘Will you now?’ said Gil, looking at him in amazement.

‘That seems like a good idea,’ said Alys, tucking her hand through Gil’s arm. ‘What else will you do? The garden? Sweeping the house?’

‘A garden?’ Nory brightened. ‘I’ll lend a hand to the garden, mistress, and gladly. And I can work in sugar-plate, make saints and subtleties for the table, if you’re so inclined. And I suppose,’ he conceded, ‘I can take on the household tasks the women canny manage. But my main duties would be looking after your man’s clothes and himself as well.’

‘It’s a very different household from your last one,’ Gil warned him. Nory nodded.

‘Be a pleasant change.’

‘Well!’ said Maistre Pierre, when they reported this, returning to the solar. ‘Your household increases daily, Gilbert. You will be Provost yourself before you know it.’

‘Sweet St Giles, I hope not!’ said Gil.