J. Tomlin - The Winter Kill

The lord sheriff’s face was drawn into a fierce scowl. “I want those answered before the king’s chancellor comes down upon me like an avalanche. So see to it.”

Law tilted his head and quirked his mouth into a smile. “I dinnae think that Ross will pay for my investigating Kennedy’s murder, Sir William.” He bounced the key casually in his hand.

“Wheesht, man. I expect the bishop will do that.” At Law’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “If he disnae, then I shall. Now be off with you. Hie to that house now and come back with some answers.”

“I want to see as well,” said Meldrum. The two stepped together through the door and into an icy drizzle. Law muttered a curse.

Bundled in their differing plaids over their heavy cloaks, they hurried to the Northgate Port. Once through the gate, Law pointed to a small house with a fenced plot before the door. “That has to be it.” All the other houses in sight had lights inside and wisps of smoke from hearth fires against the day’s bitter cold.

The garden was still snow covered, but there was a trampled path through it past the bare limbs of a rose tree on one side and a wooden shelter stacked with kindling on the other. Inside the gate, Law squatted to examine the trampled ground. Someone had been through the garden more than once since the storm. They’d trampled the snow down, but it had refrozen to a hard layer since they passed.

“Whoever was here, it was after Jannet died and long enough for it to freeze hard.”

Meldrum stamped the slush loose from his feet and motioned toward the door. “Let us see whether the key fits. Why would he bother with a lock on such a small house? What was he hiding, I wonder.”

Law straightened and walked carefully over the icy path to the door. The key went in easily enough, but it was a bit of a struggle to make the frozen lock turn. Then it clicked. Law pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. Inside it was dim, and he went to the window and threw open the shutters. The watery daylight did little to help.

Law looked about. The room was well furnished. There was a settle with velvet cushions, a good-sized table with nothing on it except a lamp, four stools, and a cold brazier in the corner. The walls were paneled with good pine. On the other side of the room was an inner door that swung open at Law’s touch.

Within was shadowy, and Law peered about into the murk. At the foot of a box bed with red damask hangings was a carved wooden kist, and beside an empty hearth stood a chair.

“If anyone has been inside, they left no sign,” said Meldrum.

“Aye. If the house was searched, it was neatly done. Or what they searched for was easily found. We’ll need to search ourselves to see whether anything is hidden.”

Meldrum went to the only window and opened the shutters. “I’ll light that lamp in the other room, so we can see what we are about.”

When the sergeant returned with the lamp, Law decided to begin in the easiest place and threw open the lid to the kist. On top was a doublet of heavy blue samite, not folded but carelessly tossed in; below that, a good furred man’s houppelande with long, scalloped-edged sleeves and a furred cloak were balled up. Law raised an eyebrow at the rich attire and draped them over the lid of the kist. They were fine quality and little worn, if they had been worn at all. By the time he reached the large scrip at the bottom of the kist, he had pulled out eight garments, roughly handled for such good quality.

“Och! That is promising,” said Meldrum.

Law shook his head and upended the empty purse. With little hope of success, he used the lamp to look under the bed and behind it and even up the chimney flue. He found nothing but dust.

Meldrum dusted his hands after crawling on the floor. “What do you think?”

“I think a number of things.” He replaced the garments in the kist more neatly than he had found them. “But nothing I am ready to say aloud.”

“We could bring one of my men to pull up the boards of the floor,” the sergeant said doubtfully.

“We’d not find anything. Why ever he sent Jannet, he did nae expect her to pull up boards. No, I think it was in that scrip.”

“Then what happened to it? She did nae have anything of note when her body was brought to the Tolhouse. You think the lad who found her body took it?”

Law studied Meldrum thoughtfully.

The man’s face flushed a fiery red. “Dinnae you look at me so. I am no thief.”

“No.” Law rubbed his chin. “I have heard things about you, but not that you are a thief. And the lad who found her was too frightened to steal from a dead body. That seems certain. So the person who trampled the snow in the garden must be the one who has whatever Kennedy sent Jannet for. Or sent her with. But…”

“But…?”

Law nodded to himself. “But a number of things are far less than clear. Let us be off before it’s full dark. There are people I must speak to.”

Inside Reidheid’s Hostelry, the air smelt pleasantly of ale and roasting meat. The innkeeper hurried up with a bow and led them to a table in a corner. From his broad shoulders, the brown robe swung around Brother Hugh's strong stride.

“Hoi, Brother Hugh, what are you doing away from the song school?” said someone as they passed. “Brother Hugh, good to see you,” someone else called out. The friar bobbed a friendly nod.

After they sat down, Hugh gave Law a modest smile. “I dinnae have a chance to go out to an inn often, Sir Law. This is an indulgence for me. Especially with the confusion at school for now.”

The innkeeper brought a pitcher of ale with two cups and said, “Brother Hugh, I heard the boys were sent home from school. That’s a shame. When do you think it will open again?”

“It is all gone agley with the maister’s death. It is up to the bishop to decide. I’d nae want to say.” He motioned to Law. “And this is Sir Law, acting as the lord sheriff’s man.”

“Och, Sir Law and I have met afore.” He gave Law a doubtful look before he glanced back to the friar. “The mutton stew is good the day.”

“Do you have a bean potage? Feasting with the poor maister lying dead…” He shook his head. “Nae, it would not be fitting.”

“We always have potage on the back of the fire. Some good bread with it and it will do you nicely.”

“Two then,” Law said, not bothering to clarify that he was hardly in the service of the lord sheriff and regretting a hearty mutton stew. “I’m fine with a potage.”

When the innkeeper walked away, Brother Hugh looked seriously at Law with candor in his wide blue eyes. “You were very insistent about bringing me out with you, Sir Law.”

Law leaned toward him. “The lord sheriff has tasked me with looking into Maister Kennedy’s murder.”

“Into what?” His face tightened with shock. “You must be jesting. No one would murder the maister of the song school. Why would they? And if they did, why, it would be on everyone’s tongue. He fell and was helpless against the freezing cold. That’s all. A very sad thing, but it could nae have been murder.”

“Why could it not be?”

“Why…” For a moment, the friar sat open-mouthed. “I suppose it could be, but I heard there were no wounds on him, so how could it? And I still say there would be no reason to kill him, a priest. You must be jesting.”

“I swear to you that I am not. This is a grave matter. I believe he had information about Jannet Neyn Patrik Ross that would have explained much about her death. You ken that I talked to him in the afternoon. But I was to return today to talk to him more.”

To Law’s annoyance, the innkeeper chose that moment to set a big bowl of steaming bean potage down in front of each of them. The interruption made it hard to judge Brother Hugh’s reaction. The friar gave the thick soup a stir with his spoon and took a mouthful. “What could Maister Kennedy have telt you about that since he was at the school the night that she died?”