J. Tomlin - The Winter Kill

“You could be a troubadour as well, Sister.”

“Aye, but it had to be an accident. I cannae see any other cause that makes sense. Do you ken how many people die in Perth every year from the cold? Every winter we see the snow and cold and forget to fear it. Or are just too poor to have peat to burn to keep warm. The weans are the worst. Their mam thinks they’re asleep, and they toddle into the storm. Just two days ago, it was a bairn not even in his second year. He was still breathing when they brought him to us, but there was naught we could do. He died without ever awakening.”

“I saw Jannet’s body, laid out for the inquest. It was discolored from being frozen, hard to tell whether there were marks other than that. There were none I could make out.”

“Can you convince the lord sheriff it was an accident? It had to have been.”

“Not without talking with more people, on your word alone. And I need to talk to whoever found her body. Forbye, I have her father insisting it had to be murder.”

“Talk to more people? You mean Maister Kennedy?

“He is one of them. Did she have a chamber in the guest hall? I need to see where she stayed.”

The canoness frowned at him, deep lines between her eyes, her blue stare hard and direct. “Men are not allowed to visit yon.”

“It’s not near the sisters’ cells, is it? So there would be nae harm in it. The lord sheriff is insistent this must be solved.”

The canoness let out a gust of a sigh.

Law gave her an appealing look. “I’d tell no one I was yon, but I need to see whether there is a hint in her things of what happened. If there is any way to convince the priests to give her a proper burial, for her soul if not for her father’s sake, surely you’d want to do that.”

“Aye. You have the right of it,” she said, rubbing at the lines between her eyes as though her head ached. “The guesthouse mainly takes in women on pilgrimage, and in the winter, it was empty except for Jannet, so there is nae harm in it, it seems to me. A canoness secular can lead you yon. But be quick. We can afford nae more scandal.”

She strode to the door, habit swishing around her, and called out, “Sister Beatrice.”

A thin, sharp-faced canoness, hands folded into her wide sleeves, entered the doorway. Her face pinched into an expression of holy disapproval when she saw Law behind the infirmarer. “Aye, Sister? Are you all right?”

“I need you to show Sir Law to Jannet’s chamber. Wait while he looks about, and then see him on his way.” She gave Law a cool and pointed glance.

Sister Beatrice sniffed with disapproval but bowed her head in obedience. She motioned for Law to follow her through the bare, whitewashed hallway, walls lined with wooden crucifixes of a writhing, suffering Christ, into the guest hall.

With a droll smile of thanks, Law closed the door in her face and stood alone in the chamber. The air was icy, the small brazier in a corner unlit, but a hint of rose attar was still in the air. It was a bare room, with a few pegs on the wall-one holding a green kirtle heavily embroidered around the hem-a narrow bed, and a wooden kist against a wall opposite the only window. He opened the shutters to let in the watery winter light and began his search with the kist. It was filled with good woolen clothes suitable for the winter though some were well-worn, a plaid that she must have used as a wrap, and a small wooden casket. He dumped the contents onto the bed: a piece of Cairngorm crystal, rough and unpolished, a tied bundle of dried flowers, and a small seashell with purple stripes. Keepsakes, of what he could not tell. He dropped them back in, shoved the clothes into place, and looked around. He pulled back the coverlets on the narrow bed. Nothing but a plain linen coverlet. There was a little dust beneath the bed and no place left to search.

When he left, Sister Beatrice was waiting, her mouth pursed up with displeasure. “It took you long enough. Did you find what you were seeking?”

“Aye. Thank you.”

She gave a decisive turn to lead him out and said over her shoulder, “A priest spending time with a married woman. A scandal.”

“True enough, Sister.”

“I cannae count the times she came in as the doors were locked. Twice she did nae return at all and sent a message she had tarried with a friend. Mayhap she was with him every time. Mayhap not. Even worst was him prancing after a skirt like a fool, and him in charge of the song school to lead lads astray.”

“Has anyone else been in her chamber since it happened?”

“The guest hall is empty the now. But I have better things to do than keep track of people’s comings and goings.”

“Did you see her at all that day?”

“Two days ago, aye. From afar. I saw her come walking back from the hospital when the bells were ringing Terce for midmorning prayers, then scurrying out the door not long after prayers were done.”

Cormac was quiet as he shoved the door shut behind him with a foot, his arms filled with two loaves of bread and a pitcher of ale. Looking up from slicing a dish of potted herring on the table, Law thought Cormac looked grim and thoughtful, his mouth in a thin line.

“Snowing again?”

“Nae. An icy wind though.” Cormac shrugged. “You would nae think it would bother me. ’Tis years since but it brought it all back. My siuir, the youngest, she had eight years, old enough to ken better than to go out into a storm. I think she wanted to check on the cats in the byre. We were never sure…”

Law put down the knife. “I did nae ken.”

“We were doing one thing or another. None of us saw her slip out. She must have been confused in the snow.” Cormac blinked hard. “It took three days to find her body.” He thumped the pitcher onto the table harder than necessary. “Och, there is nae point thinking on something that cannae be mended and is long past.” He peered suspiciously into one of the two wooden cups on the table, wiped them out with a corner of his cloak, and poured out the ale.

“Things come back to us. That happens.”

“Aye, so they do. Have you lost anyone that close to you, Law?”

Law snorted. “I’ve made a calling of it. My parents died of the plague when I was a page in the earl’s household. My older brother as well. He was my hero, the best on a horse or in the practice yard. I spent much of my life trying to be as good as he was, until I realized it was nothing but childish hero-worship. But still if I ever do anything right, there’s this glimmer in my mind that says, ‘Look at this, David.’ And then I feel the loss. He was one of the deftest men I ever saw with a sword. I guess sometimes I still try to live up to his approval. And I lost my comrade-in-arms-not family but as close. Mayhap closer. We fought together. Shared tents on the march. Drank and argued and-” Law shook his head. “He was more than a brother. He died beside me at Verneuil. That I saved myself but not him-” Law swallowed hard. “Sometimes I think I see him on the street and then realize it’s just a trick of my eyes.”

Cormac smiled wistfully. “Are you trying to make me feel better? I dinnae think it’s working.”

Law breathed a chuckle through his nose. “Probably not.”

Cormac slid a cup of ale toward him. After a drink, Law spread potted herring thickly onto a piece of bread for the minstrel.

Cormac sat on a stool and stretched out his rangy legs in an indolent pose. In the dim light of the candlelit room, he squinted thoughtfully ahead. His hair was a glossy red, his eyes clear blue, his face a long oval, a bit bony. Law thought Cormac handsome in his own way, though not showy in spite of the red stripes of his doublet. At last the minstrel swallowed the last bite of his bread and asked, “What about this dead woman, Jannet? It must have been an accident. She probably lost herself in the snow. ’Tis easy enough to do as I ken all too well.”