Pat McIntosh - St Mungo's Robin

‘No,’ said her father gloomily, ‘all is happening elsewhere today.’

‘Why, what’s happening?’ asked Dorothea.

‘John Veitch is taken up for killing Agnew’s servant,’ supplied Gil.

‘I heard that!’ exclaimed Tam from further down the table. ‘Is that right the corp sat up and accusit him?’

‘That Hob wouldny tell you the time o day,’ objected the other stable-hand, Patey. ‘I canny see him telling tales like that after he’s deid.’

Beside him Matt nodded agreement, but did not speak.

‘Does Marion know?’ asked Dorothea.

‘She does.’ Gil described their meeting with Marion and the encounter with Rankin Elder at the house.

‘A sailor?’ said Maggie. ‘That would explain it, wouldn’t it no? If he’s been at sea all this time.’

‘It would explain much,’ agreed Maistre Pierre, accepting the dish of bannocks from Gil. Dorothea cocked her head enquiringly, and he set the bannocks down and began to enumerate on his fingers. ‘ Item. She said she had never seen Naismith’s original will, did not know what was in it, but she was seated in the master’s great chair as if she is now owner of the house.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Alys. She captured the bannocks and sent them down the table. ‘She is about to become a respectable wife.’ She glanced quickly at Gil and away again, blushing.

‘ Item. She has spoken to the man of law this morning but it seems they spoke only about Naismith’s transactions in the burgh. Item. Her brother returned the day the man was killed, apparently alone, from a successful venture to Spain and the Middle Sea, but not to Portugal though the child was singing a Portuguese song.’

‘Oh, is that what it was?’ said Gil, understanding.

The mason nodded. ‘And then the linen cloth,’ he went on.

‘She knew it well,’ Gil said. ‘I would say she knew every stitch.’

‘When she realized it was connected with Naismith’s death, she was frightened,’ agreed Maistre Pierre. ‘She pretended not to know what the stains were.’ Dorothea snorted inelegantly, and Alys coloured. ‘That was when our drinking-companion of last night appeared.’

‘I heard about last night,’ said Dorothea, with an amused look at Gil. ‘Maggie seems to feel there’s no ale left in Glasgow today. How’s your head?’

‘Don’t ask.’ Gil took up the thread. ‘Anyway Rankin Elder recognized the piece of linen as John’s property, which he had lost — ’

‘Ah!’ said Dorothea.

‘Exactly,’ agreed Maistre Pierre.

‘Which he said John had already lost when he fetched Elder from Dumbarton three nights since.’

‘Three nights?’ queried Alys. ‘What did he mean by that? Before or after the Deacon died?’

‘He was not in the mood to answer more questions,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘It doesn’t work,’ said Gil, rubbing his forehead. ‘There isn’t time.’

‘Time?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

‘For John to have gone to Dumbarton the same night the Deacon died,’ supplied Dorothea, ‘whether this other man helped him at the bedehouse or not.’

‘And yet the widow said John wasn’t in his bed that night, but turned up in the morning along with Elder, as if the two of them had made a night of it.’

‘With their feet wet, you said,’ the mason recalled.

‘Elder’s boots are too big,’ said Gil, ‘but John’s that were drying — the ones that had got wet — are a good size to have made the prints we found.’

‘He’d a temper,’ said Matt from further down the table. Gil looked at him. ‘Veitch.’

‘He’s right, you ken,’ said Maggie doubtfully. ‘I mind you and him fighting, Maister Gil. I’ve no knowledge o this man Elder — did I hear he was an Ayrshire man, from whatever port John sails out of?’

‘That would be the accent,’ Gil agreed.

‘They’re saying he’s her sweetheart home from sea,’ contributed Tam from opposite Matt. ‘And he’s driven off this giant wi the bloody sword that was haunting the wynd where she dwells.’

‘Certainly,’ said Gil, ‘I’d believe he was wee Frankie’s father.’ He looked at Alys. ‘Just like that romance we thought of. She’s even named the child for him, if Rankin is a by-name for Francis the way it usually is.’

‘Is that right!’ said Maggie. ‘I aye thought it wasny the Deacon.’

‘Maister Gil,’ said Matt. ‘The woman Chisholm.’

‘I found her,’ said Gil, ‘but she’s no a Chisholm, she’s a Dodd.’

‘Oh, her,’ said Patey ‘My sister Jessie and her waiting-woman is gossips. Thinks gey well o herself, she does.’

‘Chisholm, Dodd. One of they names,’ said Matt, spooning yesterday’s kale.

‘A Dodd? Is that Ellen Dodd?’ said Maggie sharply. ‘Dwells off the Drygate?’ Gil nodded. ‘Well, well. Thomas Agnew’s mistress, is she? No wonder she puts on airs. Her and her jewels.’ She spread one large red hand and looked at it. ‘If I’d gone that road, nae doubt I’d have jewels and all.’

‘You have treasure in Heaven, Maggie,’ said Dorothea softly.

Maggie sniffed. ‘Aye, very like. But I’ll have a word to say to Jennet Clark, so I will, letting her sit in at her hearth talking as if she’s a married woman.’

When the meal was ended, the table cleared, the men retired to the kitchen with Maggie, and the family gathered round the hearth, Dorothea and Alys looked at one another. Dorothea nodded slightly, and Alys turned to Gil.

‘Gil,’ she said formally, ‘Tib has something to say to you. Will you hear her?’

Assuming the well-worn phrase meant an apology of some kind, Gil grimaced, but nodded, and she slipped from the hall.

‘Did you tell Kate?’ Gil asked Dorothea.

‘I did, and stayed with her a while,’ agreed his sister. ‘She’s fair grieved to think Tib met the laddie under her roof, but I think that can’t be right.’

‘Surely not,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘Perhaps in the market, or about the burgh?’

‘She’s known him most of her life,’ Gil pointed out, ‘and so has Kate. None of us could ha guessed they’d — ’ He stopped, biting off the words.

‘Bed one another,’ supplied Dorothea bluntly, just as Alys returned hand-in-hand with Tib. There seemed to be a new understanding between the two girls; Gil glanced at Dorothea, who smiled encouragingly. Maistre Pierre strolled casually to the far side of the room, and fell into contemplation of the little altarpiece in David Cunningham’s small oratory where master secretary Herbert was already engrossed in copying out a document. Tib let go of Alys and came forward to where Gil stood by the hearth. Stiff-necked, she went down on one knee and whispered uncomfortably,

‘My brother, I acknowledge that I have behaved badly, and I ask your pardon.’

Embarrassed and astonished, he stared at her. Although she had obviously spent the morning weeping, behind the puffiness her eyes were hot with anger. The formal apology was costing her dear. Nor, it occurred to him, had she expressed any sort of contrition. She had said just enough to allow him to answer her without loss of dignity as nominal head of the family, a consideration which meant nothing to him but a great deal to Alys.

Across the hearth Dorothea cleared her throat meaningfully, and he realized that he was still staring at Tib, who was beginning to look apprehensive.

‘Oh, get up, Tib,’ he said, putting his hand out to her. ‘That was well done. Do it again for the old man and we may dig you out of the pit yet.’

She scrambled to her feet, acknowledging his comment with a wry look, accepted his kiss and said, ‘Aye, but there’s more, Gil.’ Alys came forward to stand beside her, and she looked along her shoulder at the other girl. ‘Alys thinks I might have something useful to tell you.’