Pat McIntosh - St Mungo's Robin

‘A half-hour or so,’ Kerr offered. ‘Aye, he was telling me he had spoken wi Naismith yestreen. Indeed, I knew that from my own observing, for I was still at my desk when the man came up the stair, and I heard Tammas welcome him by name.’

‘What time would that be, maister?’ Gil asked.

‘Late,’ Kerr said, and grimaced. ‘The clerk that brought Naismith up here lingered to ask how long they would be, since Compline was long over, and they’d be wanting to lock the doors and go. I never realized how late it was myself till then. I rose and left my papers immediate. My steward wasny well pleased wi me,’ he admitted, grinning ruefully and showing chipped teeth, ‘for my supper was spoiled.’

‘So you’ve no idea how long Naismith was here? Or what they talked about?’

‘No to the first,’ said Kerr with legal precision, ‘and as to the second, I could hardly tell you if I did hear what they discussed, seeing it would be private between Tammas and his client.’

‘True,’ agreed Gil. ‘So it was a legal matter, then? No a social visit for a glass of Malvoisie or the like.’

‘I assume so, since Naismith came here and no to Tammas’s own lodging. As to the wine,’ he added, ‘I’ve never heard Tammas offer it to a client. A mistake, that. It brings in good custom, young Cunningham.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind, sir,’ said Gil, nodding. ‘Do you know where that might be? Maister Agnew’s lodging, I mean.’

‘Vicars’ Alley,’ said Kerr after a moment’s thought. ‘This end, right by St Andrew’s chapel. Likely you’d get him there nearer supper-time. Unless he lingers over his papers,’ he added, with another rag-toothed grin, and vanished back into his own chamber.

All three Cistercians were in the hall when Gil got back to the house in Rottenrow. Climbing the stairs from the front door he heard Dorothea’s voice, and as he stepped into the hall he had just time to see that his uncle was showing the elderly priest one of his books by the light of a branch of candles, while the two women helped Tib to set up the table. Then he was struck in the chest by Socrates’ forepaws. Tib paused in her distribution of wooden trenchers to watch the dog leaping round him, simmering with delight at his master’s safe return from the dangers of the burgh, and said caustically,

‘Mother said that beast thought he was a lapdog, and I see he’s not learned any different yet.’

‘He’s not a year old, Tib. He’ll be calm in a moment.’ Gil snapped his fingers at his pet. ‘Down! That’s better. Am I late?’

‘No to say late,’ said his uncle, breaking off his discussion, ‘since Maggie kept the supper for you. Likely we can eat as soon as she hears you’re in the house.’

‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Gil, bending his knee in a bow. ‘I went out again to look for Maister Agnew. Just as well I missed him, or I’d ha been later still.’

‘Have you found out who did it yet?’ asked Tib, setting the salt on the board.

‘No,’ said Gil, ‘though we’ve cast all about and asked a great many questions.’ He turned to the pottery cistern which hung by the door, and ran water to wash his hands.

‘Who have you questioned?’ Tib asked.

‘Marion Veitch and her brother,’ supplied Dorothea.

Tib flicked her a glance but said nothing. The laysister dragged one of the benches to the table, and Gil said, ‘Most of the almshouse, Nick Kennedy’s two servers, but not yet Naismith’s man of law.’ He lifted the linen towel to dry his hands, and Socrates stood up, one paw against the wall, and lapped at the soapy dregs in the brightly glazed basin. ‘I might go over and see if he’s home after we’ve had supper,’ he said, looking at Dorothea, and she nodded.

‘Not bad for one day,’ commented Canon Cunningham, coming forward. ‘Tib, shout down to Maggie that your brother is home, then perhaps we may eat.’

Once the household was seated at the long board, and all were served, Tib returned to the subject, demanding, ‘What happened at the bedehouse, anyway? All you said before was that the man had been found stabbed. When did it happen? Why do they not know who did it?’

‘You put yourself forward too much, Isobel,’ said her uncle severely.

She went scarlet, and stared at him in indignation, but Dorothea said, ‘No, uncle, I think she does right to ask. It was almost within earshot of the house here, any of us wants to know what’s being done to find the guilty.’

‘A true word, Lady Dawtie,’ said Maggie roundly. Gil, with resignation, helped himself to another portion of baked salmon and summarized a select few of the facts he had gathered so far. Well aware that anything he said in front of his uncle’s household would soon be common property in the Chanonry, he restricted himself to the finding of the corpse, Mistress Mudie’s evidence, Agnew’s statement that he had last seen the Deacon about Compline, and the traces at the Stablegreen gate of the almshouse.

‘Over the wall ?’ repeated Tib, white-faced. This time her uncle did not rebuke her, but Dorothea put a hand over hers. ‘Do you mean the back wall? The one by the Stablegreen? When? When was this?’

‘I do,’ agreed Gil. ‘I think by means of a ladder, or so the traces tell me, at any road. It isny there any more,’ he said reassuringly, seeing that she was still very pale. ‘The body’s in the washhouse waiting while it softens, and I’ve no idea where the ladder can be. As to when …’ He paused, considering what he knew. ‘That depends on who moved the corpse and how many people were involved,’ he said finally. ‘Maybe between nine and ten, maybe later.’

She shivered, and cast a grateful glance at Dorothea, though she drew her hand out of her sister’s clasp.

‘It just — it just doesny seem right,’ she said lamely. ‘Leaving him lying like that.’

‘If a miscreant is so lost to all sense of sin as to kill another man deliberately,’ said the elderly priest in his soft voice, ‘we canny expect him to treat the dead wi respect.’

‘Well said, Herbert,’ said Dorothea.

‘And yet,’ observed Gil, ‘Naismith’s eyes had been shut.’

‘Likely somebody couldny abide him staring,’ said Maggie cheerfully.

Tib bit her lip and looked down at her supper, then said abruptly, ‘Uncle, will you forgive me? I’m no feeling very well.’ Not waiting for his consent, she rose, and pushed her trencher across the table at Gil. ‘Here, gie that to your lapdog. I’ll see you all later.’

As her feet hurried up the stair toward the solar, Dorothea closed her eyes and crossed herself, her lips moving.

‘You need to find that ladder, Gilbert,’ said David Cunningham, ignoring this episode. ‘And the Deacon’s cloak and hat. That should take you forward.’

‘There’s a many ladders in the Chanonry,’ contributed Tam the stable-hand from further down the table. ‘Near every household must have such a thing.’ He began to count them off on his fingers, mumbling to himself, and Gil said resignedly,

‘That’s for the morn. I can see my day mapped out already.’

‘You were lucky to catch me at home,’ said Maister Agnew in legal Latin. ‘Aye, Hob,’ he added as his servant brought in a tray, ‘just leave the jug there.’

‘Aye, but you’ll no be spilling this one?’ said Hob bluntly. He was a wizened man with a scrubby beard; his livery jerkin and hose, closely examined, were quite new but he wore them as if they were out at the elbows and knees.

Agnew gave him a black look, and flapped a dismissive hand, saying, ‘You’ll take a glass of Malvoisie, Maister Cunningham? I believe you’re about to be wed, so we’ll drink to that.’