St Mungo's Robin (22 page)

He turned to walk back through the wynd. The little alley was quiet, the children presumably called home for their midday meal. Which was where he should be, he realized in dismay.

‘I told you this morn,’ said Maggie grimly. ‘Lady Dawtie was here and away again, and got a bite wi your uncle and the household. And where’s Lady Tib,
I’d like to know? I’ve kept you two-three bannocks and cheese, and that’ll ha to do you, Maister Gil, for I’ve more to do than run about cooking twice for them that canny
come home at the right time.’

‘It’s more than I deserve, Maggie,’ he agreed, sitting down on the settle by the kitchen fire. The kitchen-boy gaped at him, and moved anxiously to the other end of the spit.
‘Give me that in my hand and get on with your work, and I’ll be away out from under your feet as soon as I’ve eaten it.’

She snorted, but seemed to be mollified.

‘I’ve a word for you, too,’ she said, pounding heavily at something in the big stone mortar. ‘I asked Matt about the man Agnew, and he says, Aye, he has a
mistress.’

‘Oh?’ he said hopefully, and took a bite of a bannock. William the kitchen-boy suddenly got to his feet and scurried out into the scullery.

‘He’s no sure where she dwells,’ she added. ‘He says he thinks she might be a Chisholm or some surname from that part.’ William returned, walking carefully and
bearing a brimming cup of ale. ‘Oh, a clever laddie!’ Maggie exclaimed. The boy glanced at her, moon-face beaming, and ale splashed on the flagstones at his feet. Gil hastily took the
beaker and thanked him, and William grinned again, ducked his head in embarrassment and went back to his post at the spit. ‘Anyway he says he’ll ask about and see what he can learn. Did
you no find Agnew’s man Hob? Tam said he’d ken the woman’s lodging.’

‘Not yet.’ Gil took a pull at the ale. ‘I’ve one or two things to see to in the Chanonry I’ll likely come across the man while I’m about them. You mind
I’ll be out for supper tonight? I’m to take Dorothea down to meet Alys.’

‘Lady Dawtie let me know.’ Maggie sifted the fragments in the mortar through her fingers, and applied the pestle again. ‘I tellt her she’d relish her supper. Your lassie
keeps a good kitchen.’ She looked sharply at him. ‘Is all well wi you, Maister Gil? Have you and her had a falling-out?’

‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘No such thing.’

‘She’s likely doing too much. She’ll be fine by the morning after you’re bedded,’ said Maggie cheerfully.

Chapter Nine

‘My maister?’ said Hob, standing in the doorway of the house in Vicars’ Alley. ‘Maister Agnew? What’s that to do wi you, might I ask,
maister?’

‘He told me himself,’ improvised Gil, ‘but I never made a note of it, and now I’ve forgotten what hour he said he got home. Were you here that evening or had you gone
away early?’

‘No to say early,’ retorted Hob, his scrubby beard twitching. ‘No to say early,’ he repeated, ‘but I still canny see what’s it to do wi you.’

‘I’m hunting whoever it was killed Deacon Naismith,’ Gil said soothingly, ‘and Maister Agnew was the last person we ken saw him.’

Hob snorted.

‘That daft pair o women Sissie Mudie’s got in her kitchen,’ he said. ‘They’re saying it’s the Deil cam for the Deacon. No, it wasny my maister. He was
elsewhere that night.’

‘Was he, now?’ said Gil. ‘D’you mean he never came home? How d’you know that?’

‘When you’ve been wi the one maister as long’s I have,’ said Hob, ‘you can tell these things.’ He leaned against the doorpost, looking challengingly at Gil.
‘Was there anything else you were wanting, maister?’

‘So where was he?’ Gil began to play in a meaningful way with the strings of his purse. Hob glanced down and curled his lip. ‘Tell me what you know.’

‘No a lot,’ said Hob dismissively

Gil opened the purse and took a coin from it. ‘It would help if I knew where everyone was,’ he suggested, making the coin appear and disappear between his fingers.

‘Aye, I suppose,’ said Hob, and stood upright away from the doorpost. ‘You’d best come in for a bit. It’s cold standing here. But I’ve the supper to see
to,’ he warned.

Following the man into the painted hall, Gil paused and added a second coin to the one in his hand.

‘You were away before Maister Agnew came back in the evening,’ he prompted. Hob nodded, his eye on Gil’s fingers. ‘What time would that be?’

‘Soon as I’d syned out the supper-dishes. He gaed out when he’d eaten, took his tablets and a bundle of papers wi him, so I took it he’d some business to attend to. I
seen to the crocks and gaed out myself.’ He leered slightly. ‘I’d company to see.’

‘And you’re saying your maister was from home that night. Had he been back and gone out again, do you suppose?’

‘Oh, aye. He’d been at the Malvoisie, sticky glasses all ower the hall. It’ll no last, the way he’s going through it.’

‘Glasses? Brought someone home, had he?’

Hob shrugged, and hitched his jerkin back up one shoulder.

‘Maybe. Maybe no. There was one rolled away in a corner past where he’d spilled the stuff, it’s as like him no to bother lifting it, just fetch himsel a clean one off the
cupboard.’

‘If it was dark, he might not see it,’ said Gil thoughtfully. Hob grunted, in a tone which clearly conveyed scepticism. ‘And then he went out again. Where would he be going,
would you think?’

‘I’m no paid to watch him like a wet-nurse, ye ken,’ Hob retorted.

‘Just the same, I’ll lay money you’ve a good notion where he slept that night,’ Gil hazarded, making the two coins slide about in his fingers so that one appeared, then
the other. ‘I take it he was from home the rest of the night?’

Hob wagged his head from side to side, the motheaten beard twitching as he pursed up his mouth.

‘Likely he’d trysted wi his – er – wi someone for midnight, or some such daft hour.’

‘Why would he do that?’ wondered Gil.

Hob shrugged again, watching the travelling coins. ‘How would I ken? But he came home afore it was light, and he’d no come far, for he wasny wet, and he was –’ The man
gave Gil another sideways leer. ‘He’d wrestled a match or two in the night, I’d say. He was about done. No best pleased to see me, either,’ he added. ‘It’s a
poor thing, when a man gets cursed for coming out early to his work.’

‘It seems unfair,’ agreed Gil. ‘She lives near here, then?’

‘Aye.’ Gil raised his eyebrows and waited, but Hob gave him a disagreeable look. ‘The maister’ll tell you hissel if he wants you to ken.’

Gil tossed one coin up, then the other, and caught them in his other hand.

‘And his cloak was dry?’

‘He wasny wearing a cloak.’

‘No?’ Gil groped on the rush matting for the coin he had dropped, and straightened up. ‘No cloak? And his hat?’

‘No hat neither.’

The coins made their way into Hob’s palm, and Gil turned to leave.

‘It’s quite a chamber this,’ he commented. ‘What wi the paint and the matting. Is it easy to keep? We’ve a lodging to furnish out the now.’

‘Aye, so I’ve heard.’ Hob leered again. ‘Easy enough, when the maister doesny spill things on it. He’d a full glass of Malvoisie overturned on the strip yonder the
other day, so he tellt me. So he turned it, to save getting our feet sticky. So he tellt me,’ he repeated, and opened the door for Gil. ‘But Tammas Hogg two doors up tellt me a good way
to sort that, so we’ll try it the morn’s morn. And now I’ll say good day, maister, for I’ve his supper to get started.’

Leaving Vicars’ Alley in the dying light, Gil strode along with his head down, thinking hard. He passed the little chapel of St Andrew, aware of the sounds of the Office from within, and
made his way round the western towers of St Mungo’s. Here the most senior of the men of law who inhabited the Consistory tower were already leaving, early lanterns lit, discreet murmurs of
conversation dropping as he came past. He slowed his pace and raised his hat to one or two, but went on to the Wyndhead and turned left into the Drygate.

Marion Veitch’s house was lit and busy. His nose told him they were to have mutton stew with broad beans for supper; Eppie’s expression when she opened the door told him the moment
was not convenient.

‘I’ll not keep your mistress long,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It’s another thing I want to ask her. Or you might know the answer,’ he added.

‘Well,’ she said with reluctance. ‘Come in out the cold and I’ll ask her. What was it you were wanting to ken?’

‘Something about the Upper Town.’

Her eyebrows went up, but she left him by the light of two candles and went up the narrow stair to report to her mistress. He heard the conversation as a series of hissing whispers, over the
little girl’s quiet singing. Then feet moved on the boards, and Marion came down, the fur lining of her dark brown gown sweeping the stairs, the candles glinting on the gold chain on her
bosom. She seemed more alive than she had yesterday, her movements brisker, but her face was not encouraging.

‘It’s ower late for calling, Gil,’ she said. ‘Unless you were able to stay for your supper? It’s mutton.’

‘And beans,’ he agreed. ‘No, Marion, I thank you, I’m bidden to the Masons’ the night with my sister. How are you the day?’

Over their heads the child laughed, and began her song again. It seemed to be nonsense: ‘
Vendy may vendy may, esty sack o kay-o.
’ Or was it French?

‘I’m managing,’ said Marion, a trifle impatiently. ‘What was it you wanted to ask?’

‘Do you know if Thomas Agnew,’ he began, saw how maladroit the question was, and carried on perforce, ‘has a mistress?’

‘Do
I
ken?’ she repeated. ‘No.’ She began to turn away.

‘Do you know of a woman by the name of Chisholm, or something like that,’ he hazarded, ‘somewhere in the Upper Town? No far from Vicars’ Alley. Or would any of the
household know?’

‘No,’ she said again. ‘Gil, I canny stand here and talk, I’ve as much to see to. Come back a time when I’m less taigled and we’ll talk all you
please.’

He got himself out of the house with civility, and paused out in the wynd. Above him, the child was still singing.

‘
Kate and for ailos, kate and for ailos
,’ went the little voice. A man laughed, and answered her. Gil stared up at the window, but someone slammed the shutters shut, without
looking out. Along the house-wall the kitchen door opened. As he looked round a head popped out, and was followed by the rest of the maidservant Bel. She beckoned sharply, and he moved towards
her.

‘It’s no Chisholm, maister, it’s Dodd,’ she said rapidly. ‘Ellen Dodd, and she dwells in the next wynd but two down the Drygate on the other side. I’ve a
cousin in the same wynd.’

‘And Agnew calls there?’ The girl nodded, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Bel, many thanks. Is all well in the house here?’

‘Oh, aye,’ she said, and broke into a huge smile. ‘Better than well. I’ll need to go, maister.’

She slipped back in out of the rain, and he was left looking at the shining silvery planks of the oak door.

‘Well, well,’ he said aloud, and turned to make his way back to the street.

The next wynd but two on the other side of the Drygate was another pocket of small houses, all lit and bustling as the supper was prepared. Gil stopped at the first house, asked for Mistress
Dodd, and was directed further along.

‘Another man calling on her, is it?’ said the maidservant who had answered the door, peering at Gil in the light from behind her. ‘Well, that’s no surprise.’

She withdrew and shut the door before Gil could defend himself, and he heard the bar thudding into place.

Mistress Dodd’s house proved to be a modest structure with sagging thatch and crooked shutters. When Gil rattled the latch one of these was flung back and a head popped out, white
kerchief-ends swinging.

‘Who’s that at this hour?’

‘Does Mistress Ellen Dodd dwell here?’ he asked.

‘What if she does?’

‘I’d like a word with her, if I may.’

‘And who’s asking? What’s it about?’

‘I’m a man of law,’ he said reassuringly. ‘My name’s Gil Cunningham. I’ve a couple questions for the mistress. It won’t take long.’

The woman snorted, and withdrew. He heard female voices within, and after a moment the door was unbarred.

‘You’d better no be long,’ said the maidservant sourly. ‘Her supper’s about ready.’

She lit him across the outer room and into a small chamber, clearly painted by the same hand as Agnew’s hall in lozenges of red and green, with pots of blue flowers in them. At its centre,
standing to greet him, was a lady who somehow matched the chamber well.

‘I’m Ellen Dodd,’ she said, assessing his sober dress with one swift look. ‘Are you from the Consistory Court? There’s no harm come to – to my friend, is
there?’

‘No, no,’ he said, and introduced himself and his position. ‘I’m looking into this matter of Deacon Naismith’s death.’

She crossed herself at the mention, and waved him to a stool, sitting down opposite. She was a well-rounded woman, dressed in a kirtle of blue wool with a loose gown of black velvet over it, and
gave the impression that either garment, firmly fastened though they were, could slide off at any moment. Curls of tawny-coloured hair escaped from her French hood.

‘I’m no particular friend of Deacon Naismith,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard o the man, for certain, but I’ve never met him that I ken, I’ve no information for
you there.’

I never thought it,’ said Gil. ‘What I have heard . . .’ He paused, looking for the words, and she leaned forward as if eager to hear them. ‘. . . is that you may be able to
confirm what another person told me.’

‘Me?’ She sat upright, spreading one small plump hand on her black velvet bosom and displaying two valuable rings. ‘Oh, if I can help you, maister, I surely will. Who was it?
What did he tell you?’

He
, thought Gil.

‘The last I know of Naismith’s movements,’ he said cautiously, ‘he was with Maister Thomas Agnew in the Consistory tower, for maybe an hour, after supper that
evening.’

‘Oh,’ she said faintly, making big round eyes.

‘Maister Agnew,’ he pursued, ‘tells me he left him, and a little later he went out himself to call on someone, and spent the rest of the night there. I believe you might know
something of that?’