Pat McIntosh - St Mungo's Robin

‘And I’ve a thing or two to ask her,’ Gil admitted, getting to his feet. Socrates, sprawled by the brazier again, raised his head to watch him, but went back to sleep when he showed no sign of leaving the house.

Tib was seated by a small brazier in the bedchamber where their mother would sleep when she arrived, reading in a prayer book by the light of two candles. When Gil came into the room she put the book aside gratefully.

‘I’m trying to be good,’ she said, ‘but it’s no easy. My uncle was saying I should seek confession, but how can you be contrite about something you don’t regret, Gil?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Gil, drawing up another stool. ‘Maybe recognizing you shouldny ha done it would be the first step.’

‘I suppose so,’ she said, and sighed. ‘I never thought it would be such a — ’

‘Such a what?’ he said after a moment.

‘I thought it was just atween Michael and me,’ she said, her face softening as she spoke her lover’s name. ‘It never came into my mind that the rest of the family would make such a tirravee about it.’

‘That was foolish.’

‘I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘It still doesny seem right to me. Here’s you and Kate both wed for love — why can I no follow my liking too? It’s no fair, Gil.’

‘Life isny fair.’ He studied her face in the candlelight. Despite her brave tone, it was clear she had been crying. ‘Tib, I’ll do what I can for you, but I’ll make no promises. Sir James is very angry, and he’ll have to be talked round first afore anything else. As to what Mother will say when she gets here — and you’ll have to make your peace wi Kate as well.’

She nodded, shivering.

‘But no wi Alys,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you, Gil, I never took much to Alys till now. She’s been as kind to me the day — sitting up here letting me talk, when she’d all to do at her own house.’ She smiled briefly at Gil in a way that reminded him of Alys’s elusive expression, and went on diffidently, ‘And there was something she said that made me think a bit, Gil.’

‘What was that?’ he prompted when she paused.

‘Well. She’s got no mother, and no sisters, only that Catherine who’s more like a nun than our Dorothea is. She’s got no one to — ’

‘To what?’

‘Well, I asked Margaret years ago what it was like to lie with your husband,’ she said in a rush, ‘and she and Kate both had Mother’s wee lecture, which maybe I’ll be spared now, and I’d wager Dawtie kens at least as much as I did afore I went to Michael’s bed, but — but Alys — she doesny ken what to expect — ’

‘Are you saying she’s afraid?’ Gil demanded, enlightenment reaching him. Tib nodded. ‘Of me?’

‘No, not of you, of your — of bedding wi you.’

He was silent, staring at her. It would explain it, he thought, it would explain so much. The way she shied away from kissing, her reluctance to say what Dorothea had meant …

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Tib, my thanks for this. I should ha seen it for myself.’

‘You’re too close to see it,’ she said.

‘You’ll be as fearsome as Mother when you’re older,’ he said.

‘Spare me! I’d sooner be like our grandam.’

He sat staring at the brazier for a little longer, fitting the things which had worried him into this idea. It made sense. It might take longer to work out what he lacked himself, but that could be dealt with at another time. Just now he had a case to make out for John Veitch. He remembered the questions he had for his sister.

‘We found a handcart,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s here in our washhouse the now. If you get a look at it in the daylight, could you tell me if you mind it?’

‘I might mind it better by lamplight,’ she said reasonably. ‘Where was it?’

‘St Andrew’s chapel in Vicars’ Alley. It’s the one they use for gathering alms for the lepers. It was already at the gate to the bedehouse when you got there?’

‘It was. And someone moving about on the green, too.’

He thought a moment further, fishing for a distant memory.

‘Tib, did you say you’d seen John Veitch? When was that?’

‘Aye, I did. He was coming down from the Wyndhead when Andy Paterson and I came up the High Street. He’d a lantern, but I got a good look at him as well by someone’s torch on the end of the house-wall. I kent him well enough.’

‘What time would that be?’

She shrugged. ‘About nine o’ the clock or a bit after, maybe?’

‘And he was going down the hill,’ said Gil slowly, ‘and then when you got on to the Stablegreen, after you’d got rid of Andy,’ Tib gave him a contrite smile, ‘the handcart was there and there was someone in the trees. So John Veitch didny put the Deacon’s body over the wall.’

‘I never thought he did.’

‘But this makes it certain.’

‘I suppose it does,’ agreed Tib, sounding surprised. ‘Is that important?’

‘It is.’ Gil got to his feet. ‘Thanks for that, Tib. And for the other.’ He bent to kiss her, and she returned the salute.

‘Have I been a help?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He paused. ‘How did you get rid of Andy, anyway? Did Maggie not hear you in the yard?’

‘She was out,’ said Tib, ‘at some of her friends’, which was a bit of luck, and Matt was no to be seen either. There was only daft William in the kitchen. I never had to explain myself to anyone. Then I walked in in the morning as if Andy had just left me there.’

‘Maggie was out,’ repeated Gil. ‘Tib, you are a great help. And if you’ll look at that handcart the morn’s morn that’ll be a help too.’

He raised his hand to make the sign of the Cross, and recited their mother’s evening blessing. She spoke the familiar words with him, and he went out and back down to the hall, where his uncle was still immersed in the Murray perjury papers.

He sat down on the stone bench in his uncle’s oratory, staring at the gleam of candles on the Virgin’s gold-leaf halo and piecing the sequence of events together. He was nearly there, he knew it. Two of the stories were beginning to make sense, though the third one was harder to fit into the picture. What must I still do? he asked himself. Put my hand on Naismith’s cloak and hat, find the place where he was stabbed, identify the two weapons which stabbed him and hence name the guilty persons. Prove that John Veitch didn’t kill the man Hob, though I probably can’t prove who did kill him. And Humphrey — what about Humphrey? Does he truly not recall what happened, or is he simply not willing to tell it? And if he’s unwilling, then for which of two possible reasons?

‘Gilbert,’ said his uncle’s voice, rather sharply, and he realized the Official had spoken several times already. ‘Either be quiet or speak loud enough for me to hear you. I canny be doing wi you muttering away over there.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir.’ He rose from his seat, blinking as he turned his eyes away from the gleaming halo. ‘I was miles away.’

‘I can tell that,’ agreed his uncle. ‘It’s late, Gil. Bid Maggie set the ale on to warm if she’s not done it already.’

Gil moved towards the kitchen stair, but before he reached it there was a loud knocking at the street door. Socrates leapt up and barked once. Gil paused in surprise, and Maggie’s voice floated up from the kitchen.

‘Our Lady save us, who’s that at this hour, and Matt out winching and me wi my stays unlaced?’

‘I’ll get it,’ Gil called. He lifted a branch of candles and crossed to the other stair, wondering how many more times he would answer the door today. The dog followed him, paused in the doorway, then hurried down the stair, claws rattling on the stone steps, tail swinging in the candlelight.