Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘As simple as that,’ said Canon Cunningham.

‘And that was why they were so sure we had the rest of the money,’ said Kate.

‘They were certainly very persistent,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘both here in Glasgow, I gather, and also in the Lothians.’

‘Knollys must have been desperate to have the money found,’ agreed Gil.

‘Quite so. It seems,’ David Cunningham reported without expression, accepting more wine from Alys, ‘as if there was maybe a wee bit confusion between his own account rolls and the treasury’s. He’s already posted a string of cases to be heard at Edinburgh about sums owing to him personally, and Robert Blacader thinks there’s like to be at least one brought against him by the new Treasurer.’

‘For there is not so much joy in holding high office as there is grief in falling from a high place. I wonder,’ said Gil thoughtfully, ‘whether the Preceptory will be involved in those?’

‘Probably not,’ said his uncle. Maistre Pierre leaned back against the cushions in his great chair and closed his eyes. ‘There was a bit of legal bickering a few years since, and its connection was mostly straightened out then. And the loan, of course, is a separate matter and now concluded.’

‘And you got your own barrel back,’ said Kate.

Gil grinned. ‘We did. And there was some rare print in it. I told you that. Another Blanchflour and Eglantyne , a very bonny Virgil, the Sons of Aymon , a marvellous book on hunting. And — ’ he exchanged a complicit smile with Alys — ‘a betrothal gift.’

‘It will come home from the bookbinder’s next week,’ Alys said. ‘Two volumes in red leather, each with our initials on the cover and h e Morte Darthur on the spine.’

‘And that will be the pair of you,’ said Kate, keeping the acid from her voice with difficulty, ‘jugged in your books like James the Gentle till you have to emerge for the wedding.’

‘Aye, you’re well suited,’ said Canon Cunningham. ‘But we are tiring our friend.’

‘No, no,’ said the mason, opening his eyes again. ‘Far from it. What were we saying? Are we about to set a date for the marriage?’

‘Ah!’ said the Official, and Catherine’s attention sharpened. Kate hid her hands in her skirts and clenched them tightly, pinning a smile on her face.

‘Next week?’ said Gil hopefully.

‘I thought late November,’ said Alys, setting down the flask of wine.

‘November?’

‘It’s barely three months hence,’ she pointed out, her smile flickering. ‘It will take me near that long to order up the dry stores we’ll need. We’ll want to hold the feast before Advent begins, and by then the Martinmas killing will be past, and there will be fresh meat in plenty. And your sisters will be able to attend.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Indeed,’ said Catherine in her elegant French. ‘I understand your next sister is about to become a mother again.’

‘Aye,’ said Babb, catching the drift of this. ‘Margaret, out at Bothwell. She’s due in a few weeks, so the word is, and it’s her third, it’s no likely to be late.’

‘So she should be able to travel by then,’ Alys said hopefully. ‘And if we give Dorothea plenty of notice, she should be able to find an errand for the convent to bring her over on this side of Scotland about the right time.’

And Kate and Tibby will be able to attend any time, thought Kate. No ties, no responsibilities, nobody else to consult.

Gil was laughing. ‘You have it all thought out, haven’t you? Well, if it can’t be next week, it might as well be November.’ He reached out and drew Alys close, and she looked down at him. The expression on her face dug to Kate’s heart. ‘But how I’ll last till then, sweetheart, I don’t know.’

‘There is a deal to be done before then,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘If you are to live in the lodgings we picked out over the courtyard yonder, there will be decisions to make, and work to be commissioned. We have the rooms panelled for you, I think.’

‘Well, well,’ said the Official. ‘So you’ll be leaving my house in late November, then, Gilbert?’

‘He’s near left it already,’ said Kate, and managed to keep the tart tone out of her voice. ‘He’s barely been home all the time I’ve been staying with you, sir.’

‘You must tell me as soon as you’ve the dates settled,’ went on David Cunningham, acknowledging this with a quirk of his mouth, ‘and I’ll bid Fleming keep them clear of cases. I’d not wish to be tied up in the Consistory tower while the dancing went on down here.’

‘And we must write to your mother with all the news,’ said Alys.

‘I shall be glad to renew my acquaintance with madame mere,’ said Catherine.

‘Which reminds me,’ said Canon Cunningham. He fished in his sleeve for his spectacles. ‘I wrote to my good-sister a few days since, to tell her about the appointment Robert our Archbishop had offered you, Gilbert, and she has replied.’ He produced a folded sheet from the other sleeve. ‘She’s well pleased, sends good wishes now the marriage can go forward, says she’ll write direct to you, Peter. But here’s a thing.’ He peered at the tightly written page. ‘She sends that she’s heard from her kinswoman Elizabeth Boyd at Kilmarnock. Angus’s countess,’ he elucidated. ‘It seems the King is still at Kilmarnock too, and like to be so for some while, for he spends his time with Elizabeth’s niece Marion. Which one’s Marion, Gilbert?’

‘Archie’s older daughter,’ Kate supplied. ‘I mind her. A wee plump thing, a bit younger than me. I suppose she’s nineteen by now.’

‘She would be,’ muttered Gil. What did he mean by that? Kate wondered.

‘Aye. Seems the King’s much taken wi her, spends night and day in her company. Night and day,’ he repeated with relish, ‘and can think of naught else.’

‘Well, he is a young man,’ said Maistre Pierre tolerantly.

‘So it worked,’ said Gil, but did not explain.

‘That’s the Boyds back in favour,’ said Kate. Her voice came out harshly. ‘If they’ve supplied his first mistress, the King’ll no forget them.’ And even Marion Boyd, plump and giggling, from a family which had seriously offended James Third and suffered for it, would achieve something Kate would not. Whatever else she provided for the King, she had already given him enough to ensure herself a handsome tocher, a good marriage.

‘No wonder Robert our Archbishop’s fixed at Stirling the now,’ mused the Official. ‘The Lords in Council can get on with running the country, with no interference from the King’s grace.’

‘Aye,’ said Gil, very drily. He sounds just like the old man, thought Kate.

There was a knocking at the house door. Maistre Pierre turned his head, frowning.

‘Who might that be?’

‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ Alys looked towards the door as one of the maidservants made her way up from the kitchen. ‘Who is it, Kittock?’

‘I don’t just know, mem,’ said Kittock, but Kate could hear a laugh in her voice. ‘Seeing it’s no the season for guizers. Will I let them in?’

Hardly waiting for Alys’s consent, she swung the great door open, exclaiming, ‘Oh, my, who can this be come visiting?’

Children, then, thought Kate, and unaccountably her heart leapt under her ribs.

Small bare feet pattered on the polished floorboards of the hall. Socrates tensed at Gil’s side, growling faintly, and was hushed. Two little winged figures came round the end of the settle into the circle, and paused, gazing in confusion at the number of people present. They wore smocks of white linen, embellished with white ribbons and little knots of daisies; crowns of ribbons and daisies were fastened among their short curls, and each one carried a posy of flowers. The smaller one’s wings were on crooked. The dog stared intently at them, the hackles standing up along his narrow back.