V Masters - The Castilians - A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

She tugs on Father’s sleeve. ‘Elspeth has gone.’

‘Gone, gone where?’

Niven collapses onto the settle and covers his face with his hands. ‘My child, my child,‘ he cries.

Father looks from Bethia to Niven. ‘I am very sorry your daughter is gone, but what has this to do with me?’

Niven lifts his head and points to where Mother, Agnes, Grissel, and John too, are crowded in the doorway. ‘Ask your wife.’

‘Me! What would I have to do with your daughter?’

‘Mary, come in and close the door behind you.’

Mother stands in the centre of the room, shoulders back and hands crossed over her stomach, ignoring Elspeth’s father.

He leaps up and stabs his finger at her. ‘It’s your fault, you and all your pretensions. Thinking you’re better than everyone with yon airs and graces. You brought the poncy Italian here and he’s stolen my daughter.’ He drops back onto the settle and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. ‘I thought Elspeth was safe in your home. My only child, and she’s lost to me.’

‘When did you last see Elspeth?’ Father demands of Bethia.

‘Yesterday, no, it’s two days since but this… this doesn’t sound like Elspeth. Are you sure?’

‘Do you think I’d be here if I was not. Her clothes are gone, and the painter too. I went to his lodgings.’

‘You were to chaperone the lassies,’ Father says to Mother. ‘How could this happen?’

‘I am not Elspeth Niven’s nurse. Let her parents look to themselves. She was here at all hours, when she had no business to be.’

‘You knew she was here?’

‘I knew nothing, she’s not my responsibility It was her parents’ responsibility to teach proper behaviour.’ And Mother sweeps out of the room, pushing past Agnes and Grissel listening outside the door.

‘It’s not what you’re thinking. She only ever assisted; she loves the art, not the artist,’ pleads Bethia.

‘Pure she may still be, but no man will take her now.’ Master Niven pauses and then looks piercingly at her. ‘You aided her because you want Norman Wardlaw for yourself.’

‘I knew no more than you, and I would never want to marry that man, any more than Elspeth did,’ she shouts.

She looks at Father, who is tugging on his beard.

‘But this will not get my daughter back. Can you help me?’

Father shifts from one foot to the other. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

Master Niven shakes his head as he shuffles from the room. Bethia follows him and lays a hand on his arm when he opens the front door.

‘Elspeth is a good girl.’

‘That as may be, but it will not help her now.’

Bethia watches Master Niven walk away, head bowed. He passes Gilbert Logie, who turns to look at him, then turns back to nod and smile at Bethia. She dips her head but waits with the door open. It is not the first time he has come, since he returned her home after the cannon fire. Father likes him, saying Logie’s a fine, sensible fellow and Regent Arran is fortunate to have him as an aide.

She can see Gilbert’s curious as to what’s taken place but, as befits a well–mannered man, he does not ask. Father is burning some papers when she leads Gilbert into the workroom. He drops the poker and rubs his face, offers Gilbert the chair and sits down next to Bethia on the settle opposite, inquiring how the plans to break the siege are progressing.

Gilbert leans forward and plants his hands on his knees. She finds it an odd gesture, like something a much older man would do. ‘Finally we have enough troops and the castle tightly besieged so none may easily leave, including by sea. You will no doubt have noticed the two ships patrolling in the bay.’

Father nods.

‘They have destroyed the boat which the garrison had secured below the castle.’ Logie leans back, stroking the scar puckering the side of his face. ‘It’s much more difficult for them to get provisions now. Soon they’ll be hungry and cold – as long as we maintain the stranglehold.’

She flinches and Gilbert gazes at her. He, of course, has no idea that Will is inside; a Castilian, and a traitor. She drops her eyes to the hands resting on her lap, thankful that Will had the presence of mind to remain unseen from the beginning, protecting his family and their good name – so far.

Gilbert leans back in the chair. ‘We know they’ll not easily give up, but we have plans underway that will flush them out.’

She can feel Father next to her, drumming his fingers, and leans forward herself. ‘Do the carts of rubble I saw being taken out of the city, earlier this evening, have anything to do with those plans?’

Gilbert stares at her and then at the floor. ‘I know nothing about carts,’ he says. ‘Perhaps it’s some building repairs after the damage done during the bombardment.’

‘Most probably,’ says Father, raising his eyebrows at her. ‘On another matter, Logie, you may be able to render some assistance, if you will. The ship the Bonny Meg left harbour yesterday bound for Antwerp, but first will dock in Leith.’

‘I know, a couple of my men are on it; they have duties at Holyrood.’

Father stands up to straighten the portrait of Mother and Bethia, which he was pleased enough with to hang on his workroom wall. ‘The painter, Antonio, who I employed here, was also on board. If you could find out whether he travelled alone it would be most helpful to me. He may have taken a young girl on the journey.’

‘I will get a courier off to Edinburgh and find out what I can.’

‘Mind you, be discrete. She is of good family.’

‘Of course,’ says Gilbert. He rises.

‘Thank you.’ Father places his arm around Gilbert’s shoulders. ‘Come again, son.’

She shows Gilbert out, pondering what she’s heard, and goes to close the door behind him, when he calls out to her.

‘Should you ever have need of me send a message to my lodgings, the house by Greyfriars, and I will come.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, but she cannot imagine what that need might be; the only need she has is of Mainard, and Gilbert can’t do aught about that. It’s two months since he left, and she knows he returned safely for Father has had much communication from Master de Lange. She has read the letters, they are about the trade they agreed – Flanders linen for Scottish hides is to be its beginning – but there has never been any letter, message or word for her included. She thought Mainard had more honour and, even if he no longer cares, that he would write and tell her, not leave her in this misery of uncertainty.

Father’s smile has gone when she returns to the work room. ‘This is bad, very bad,’ he mutters, ringing his hands.

‘Do you not think Gilbert can get her back?’

‘What… oh I’m not thinking of Elspeth, though ’tis a shame for the lass, and her father.’ He bends his head and rubs at the bald spot which Bethia notices is getting bigger. ‘No, it’s Will I’m thinking of.’ He lifts his eyebrows and nods to her. ‘That was well spotted, my lass, and a clever question.’

She raises her own eyebrows. She’s no idea what he’s talking about.

‘The carts,’ he says, ‘the carts taking away rubble.’

‘Yes?’

‘Arran’s troops may well be trying to dig their way into the castle, and, if so, the siege might quickly be over. I do not think we can get Will out now, even if he would come, and that leaves us in a dangerous place. I am sorry, lass, I know it is not to your liking, although we can be confident Norman is eager, but I think we must have an alliance with the Wardlaws.’

Her mouth is so dry she can barely form the words. ‘What sort of alliance?’