St Mungo's Robin (30 page)

‘Surely not,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘Perhaps in the market, or about the burgh?’

‘She’s known him most of her life,’ Gil pointed out, ‘and so has Kate. None of us could ha guessed they’d –’ He stopped, biting off the words.

‘Bed one another,’ supplied Dorothea bluntly, just as Alys returned hand-in-hand with Tib. There seemed to be a new understanding between the two girls; Gil glanced at Dorothea, who
smiled encouragingly. Maistre Pierre strolled casually to the far side of the room, and fell into contemplation of the little altarpiece in David Cunningham’s small oratory where master
secretary Herbert was already engrossed in copying out a document. Tib let go of Alys and came forward to where Gil stood by the hearth. Stiff-necked, she went down on one knee and whispered
uncomfortably,

‘My brother, I acknowledge that I have behaved badly, and I ask your pardon.’

Embarrassed and astonished, he stared at her. Although she had obviously spent the morning weeping, behind the puffiness her eyes were hot with anger. The formal apology was costing her dear.
Nor, it occurred to him, had she expressed any sort of contrition. She had said just enough to allow him to answer her without loss of dignity as nominal head of the family, a consideration which
meant nothing to him but a great deal to Alys.

Across the hearth Dorothea cleared her throat meaningfully, and he realized that he was still staring at Tib, who was beginning to look apprehensive.

‘Oh, get up, Tib,’ he said, putting his hand out to her. ‘That was well done. Do it again for the old man and we may dig you out of the pit yet.’

She scrambled to her feet, acknowledging his comment with a wry look, accepted his kiss and said, ‘Aye, but there’s more, Gil.’ Alys came forward to stand beside her, and she
looked along her shoulder at the other girl. ‘Alys thinks I might have something useful to tell you.’

There was a muffled exclamation, and Maistre Pierre swung round from his study of the little Annunciation scene. Gil stared at his sister in dismay, and after a moment she looked down, fidgeting
with one foot.

‘I never thought, till the day,’ she admitted. ‘And how could I ha told you if I had?’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ said Gil fairly. ‘Go on.’

‘When I was – when I –’ She swallowed, straightened up, and began again in the middle of the tale. ‘I went to the back gate of the bedehouse and waited for
M-Michael to let me in.’ Gil nodded. ‘I had a light, but I held it low. There was somebody else moving about the Stablegreen, wi no light, or maybe a shut-lantern. I saw nothing, but I
could hear movement.’

‘Could it have been an animal?’ Gil asked. ‘A goat, maybe? A pig?’

She shook her head.

‘It was bigger than that. It could ha been Finn mac Cool,’ she said, with a sort of inverted bravado. ‘I was that feart, and Michael took for ever to come to the gate, and
someone had left a great cart by the wall that I walked into and bruised my hip. I tell you, Gil, by the time I got through the gate and into the light I was near screaming.’

‘A cart,’ he said. Alys nodded; beyond the hearth Dorothea turned and moved to the settle. ‘What kind of cart, Tib?’

‘One of those handcarts. Two wheels and two handles.’

‘And two legs at one end to hold it steady when it’s not being pushed along,’ he said, and met Maistre Pierre’s eyes across the room. ‘What like was it, Tib? Did
you see what colour it was?’

‘Colour? By lantern-light? It was dark-coloured,’ she said rather sharply, ‘that’s all I can tell you, and there was a fancy pattern on the end bit between the handles,
done in light paint.’

‘But no name or sign of who it belonged to?’ She shook her head. ‘Could you draw me the pattern?’

‘Likely.’

‘Tib, was the cart empty?’

She swallowed hard. ‘No, it wasny. There was a kind of big dark bundle tied on it wi a rope. Was – was that the dead man, Gil?’

‘You tell me,’ he said. ‘Was it big enough to be a body?’

‘It could have been,’ she said, and swallowed again. ‘If he was maybe curled up.’ She bent her head and whispered something he did not catch.

‘Oh, no, Our Lady be praised you did not look closer!’ said Alys, putting an arm round her. ‘Who knows what might have happened?’

‘Amen to that,’ said Gil.

There was a pause, and then Tib looked up in consternation. ‘Yo u’re saying it was whoever killed him that I heard moving about out on the Stablegreen? So I was right to be
feart?’

‘Likely it was,’ agreed Gil. Across the room Maistre Pierre met his gaze again, and reached for his cloak. As his friend’s footsteps diminished down the stair to the front
door, Gil continued, ‘Tib, thank you for telling me this. I’d ha thought of asking you sooner or later, I’ve no doubt, but you’ve saved us some time.’

‘Aye, well. You haveny gone into the speech about
See what happens when a lassie misbehaves
,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful for that, Gil.’

‘Can you add anything else?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I’ve thought and thought, but I don’t recall any more.’

‘The gate was locked, was it? And you left it locked again?’

‘Oh, the gate. Aye, it was locked fast, and M-Michael took the time to secure it again, though I was trying to pull him away to come into the light. And in the morning . . .’ She
paused, thinking it through. ‘Aye, it was still locked in the morning.’

‘What about lights in the bedehouse? Movement?’

‘I wasny attending,’ she said, with one of her wry looks, and suddenly blushed scarlet. Then, just as suddenly and to her own obvious embarrassment, she began to cry. ‘Oh,
Michael! Oh, Alys, when will I see him again?’

Alys exclaimed in sympathy and drew her to the settle, but Dorothea took her hand and said more astringently, ‘Come on, come on, Tib. Greeting’s no help. Far better to be at your
prayers in your own chamber.’

‘What, for forgiveness?’ said Tib sharply through her tears.

‘Contrition has to come first,’ said Dorothea. ‘More use to ask Our Lady for a solution to your difficulties.’

‘That is true. You might get an answer,’ said Alys, patting her other hand.

‘Oh, she’ll get an answer. And it might not be
No.’

Chapter Twelve

‘Your sister is very wise,’ said Alys.

‘I hope you mean Dorothea?’

Her quick smile flickered. ‘Too many people forget,’ she persisted, ‘that the saints can say No as well as Yes.’

‘True.’ And is that what St Giles is saying? he wondered. That I won’t get help to deal with my marriage? Then something in her voice alerted him. ‘What have you
petitioned for, sweetheart?’

She went scarlet, and turned her head away. He sat down beside her on the cushioned settle and put his arm round her.

‘Is it anything I can give you?’ She shook her head. ‘Would it help to tell me?’ Another shake of the head. ‘Alys, if there’s something you lack, something
you need, in mind or body or spirit, you should bring your need to me. I may not be able to supply it,’ he admitted, ‘but if I’m to be your husband I should know of it.’

She shook her head again, with a wry little laugh.

‘Has St Giles helped you in all you’ve asked for?’ she countered. Her face was still turned away from him. ‘Because if you lack anything, your wife should supply it if
she is able.’

‘Perhaps we should ask together,’ he said. ‘Alys, look at me.’ She did not turn her head. ‘What is it you lack, sweetheart? Tell me.’

He tightened his clasp of her shoulders, trying to draw her closer, and she stiffened. Socrates sat down at their feet, looking from one to the other, and whined anxiously.

‘Tell me what you lack, Gil,’ Alys whispered.

‘What a pair of fools you are,’ said Dorothea crisply from the door to the stairs. ‘I know love is blind itself, but Heaven preserve me from blind lovers.’

Gil gaped at her, and she came forward to sit in their uncle’s great chair, shaking her head at them. The dog went over, waving his tail.

‘Are folk no daft, Socrates,’ she said, patting him. ‘There’s Tib up there got herself into a right pickle, all for love, and here’s your maister and lady down
here, neither able to see what’s worrying the other.’ She looked up at them, and Alys moved imperceptibly closer to Gil, staring back at her. ‘It isn’t for me to expound
it,’ Dorothea pronounced, to Gil’s great relief, ‘but the sooner you each confess to the other what’s eating at you, the better it’ll be. Look at the symmetry in what
you were both saying the now. Can you not see it?’

‘Symmetry?’ said Gil.

‘Think about it,’ she said.

‘Of course he sees,’ asserted Alys. ‘Dorothea, you need not worry. We’ll dispute it between us.’

Dorothea smiled, then rose and swooped on her, kissing her on both cheeks.

‘You will now,’ she agreed. ‘Welcome to the family, Alys. Gil,’ she went on, ‘Tib said to me the now, Did I think all these deaths were linked. She seems right
troubled by it all, I suppose since she realizes she came near seeing whoever that was on the Stablegreen in the dark. Where have you got to with it?’

‘Little further than last night,’ admitted Gil.

‘Then why don’t you,’ she said, as if proposing a treat to a child, ‘take Alys out and show her where it all happened? A fresh eye to the ground might be a good
thing.’

Gil looked at Alys, his heart leaping at the suggestion despite his sister’s tone of voice, and saw the same response in her eyes. She turned to Dorothea and said, ‘But what about
you, Sister? Would you not wish to see it as well?’

Dorothea shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here. Someone ought to be with Tib, and someone must tell our uncle when he comes home.’

‘Dawtie, that’s heroism,’ said Gil frankly.

She gave him an affectionate smile. ‘You’ve enough before you the now, Gil. Go on, the pair of you. Away and get some fresh air.’

Before Gil could answer, there was an urgent knocking at the street door. They looked at one another, and the knocking continued, along with a muffled shouting.

‘Tell Maggie I’ll get that,’ Gil said, making for the stairs. As he descended the shouting became recognizable as his name:

‘Maister Cunningham, Maister Cunningham! Come quick!’

He opened the door, and a young man almost fell into the house, saving himself by catching hold of the doorpost. As Gil identified the kitchen-laddie from St Serf’s the youth stared at
him, gulped and exclaimed, ‘Can you come quick, maister? You’re wanted at the bedehouse. There’s been a miracle.’

‘A miracle?’ repeated Gil in astonishment. A double echo floated down the stairs from the hall; the women must be listening.

‘Aye, maister, a true miracle. It’s Humphrey,’ said the boy. ‘He’s risen again. And he’s cured of his madness and all.’

Striding up Castle Street in the rain, with Alys hurrying beside him and the boy at their heels, Gil realized he could hear shouting and exclamations from the bedehouse yard.
He could not make out what was being said, but it sounded more excited than angry.

‘They’ve all come to witness the miracle,’ said the boy. What did Mistress Mudie call him? Simmie, that was it. ‘Nannie ran out in the street shouting about it. I kenned
it wasny right,’ he said earnestly, ‘but I couldny stop her. So then all the folk cam in to see what was going on, and Maister Millar tellt me to fetch you.’

The wooden yett was standing open, and the yard beyond the end of the chapel appeared to be full. As Gil picked his way along the narrow passage, someone’s voice lifted from the courtyard,
high and confident in the alto line. It sounded like Millar: ‘
Te Deum laudamus . . .
We praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.’ The Church’s great, ancient
hymn of thanksgiving and praise. Well, if Simmie was right, the house had something to give thanks for, he thought, as the other voices joined in, one quavering voice to a part.

They rounded the corner of the chapel in time to see Anselm, at the tail of the tiny procession, totter through the door, and the crowd in the yard close in behind him like the waters of the Red
Sea. Using his height and his elbows, Gil achieved a place for himself and Alys by the arched doorway, and peered in under the clumsily carved tympanum. Behind them in the yard, exclamations and
questions flew.

‘Was that him? Was that the one that’s rose up?’

‘No, it was the young one, she said. They ones were all full old.’

‘What was it, anyway? What did he dee of?’

‘What about the other one that’s deid? Is he risen and all?’

‘Oh, he’ll no rise up. You’ve only to put your head in at the washhouse door to tell that. Quest on him’s the morn’s morn.’

The five old men, with Millar at their head, moved singing into the little choir, settled themselves and finished the
Te Deum
, following it with a
Gloria.
Gil, standing by the
door, waited until Millar began to recite, and recognized familiar words from the Gospel.

‘
Iesus dixit . .
. Jesus said, Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I shall go and wake him.’

‘The raising of Lazarus,’ said Alys softly. ‘Is it true, then?’

A very proper choice, if so, thought Gil. He turned as Simmie began to tug at his sleeve.

‘Can you come into the house, maister?’

They made their way through the crowded courtyard, avoiding more questions, and through the door which opened as Simmie reached it. The younger maidservant, bright-eyed with excitement, barred
it behind them and said, ‘They’ll not be long, they’re just offering thanks the now. Is that no lucky they’d no ordered his grave dug yet?’

‘When did this happen?’ Gil asked.

‘Why just the now. No an hour since. The Douglas’s men’s gone out to find him, but I’m glad Simmie got you first, sir, for Maister Millar was wanting you. Come in and sit
a wee bit till they’re done singing.’

‘Did you see it?’ said Alys as they followed her into the empty kitchen. The fire was burning and the charcoal in the range was lit; behind them Simmie picked up his chopping-knife
and resumed his endless task of chopping roots for the stew.

‘Is Humphrey really alive?’ Gil asked.