The Merchant's Mark (31 page)

In the hall, on the settle by the empty hearth, Alys’s aged aristocratic nurse Catherine was seated under a branch of candles, staring at the wall-hangings while her fingers moved
automatically with thread and hook. The long strip of lacy stuff twitched across her black skirts as she worked. As Gil stepped into the hall she looked round and set down her work.

‘Bon soir, maistre,’
she said. ‘Welcome home. Is our master not with you?’

‘I left him in Roslin.’ At her invitation Gil sat down opposite her.

‘Where? I trust he is well.’ She paused to acknowledge Socrates, who had padded forward to nudge her hand with his long nose.

‘He has taken some hurt. I left him well looked after,’ he assured her. Inevitably this was not enough; he had to detail the mason’s injuries and treatment while she listened
with a critical frown. Finally he managed to say, ‘Where is Alys, madame? She should be told.’

‘I regret,’ said Catherine disapprovingly in her beautifully enunciated French, ‘the demoiselle has not been home today. She spent yesterday with your sister, monsieur. Then
she went out early this morning and she is not returned. She sent word a little time ago that she would remain the night with your sister.’

‘You mean she’s in the Upper Town, madame?’ said Gil in some chagrin.

‘But no,’ replied Catherine, her toothless mouth primming up again. ‘The demoiselle and your sister are both at Morison’s Yard.’

‘Whatever are they doing there?’ he demanded. ‘Did Alys say why she would not be home?’

‘I sent one of the girls for her more than an hour ago,’ said Catherine in mounting indignation, ‘and that was all the word she brought back. What her father would say if he
heard of it – though perhaps,’ she added, as if she had just thought of it, ‘they are still trying to restore matters after the burglary.’

‘Burglary?’ Gil stared at her. ‘Where? What burglary? What are you telling me, madame?’

‘A thief broke into Maister Morison’s house last night. He took nothing,’ she assured him, ‘and he was captured. By your sister, I understand, sir.’

‘Kate?’ said Gil in amazement. ‘Sweet St Giles, how did she manage that?’

‘I have not heard,’ said Catherine resentfully.

‘I must go and see what is happening.’ Gil looked at the dog, who had flopped on to his side and was already snoring faintly. ‘I’ll leave Socrates with you, if I may
– he’s had a hard day, poor beast.’

The sky to the north was still light, but the first stars were pricking above the Tolbooth as he walked the short distance down the High Street. The leaves of Morison’s great yett were
shut, but one of them yielded to pressure, and he stepped cautiously into the yard. Barn and sheds were dark shapes in the twilight, the racks of Morison’s wares were gathering pockets of
shadow, and an occasional reflection gleamed on the rim or flank of a glazed pot; but even by this light it seemed to Gil there was less clutter underfoot.

The house door stood open, light spilling on to the steps. The hall was lit, but so also was the kitchen at the end of the range, and beyond it from the door of one of the outhouses came
lamplight, voices and steam, a crashing of wooden buckets, and splashing water. Laundry? he thought. At this hour of night?

‘Hello,’ he called. ‘Is anyone home? Alys? Kate?’

‘Gil!’ It was his sister’s voice. Her crutches scraped and thumped, and she appeared at the house door, outlined against the light. ‘Gil, Our Lady be praised you’re
back. Are you safe?’

‘Quite safe,’ he said, startled. ‘Is all well here? What’s this Catherine tells me? Where’s Alys, anyway,’ he demanded, getting to the nub of the matter.

‘She’s busy,’ said Kate. ‘She’ll be out in a little while. We never thought it would take so long. Come in, Gil. We have – we have something to tell
you.’

‘What is it?’ he asked, alarm gripping his throat. ‘Is Alys –’

‘Alys is fine,’ Kate assured him. ‘Come into the house, till I tell you what’s been going on here.’

‘You are getting more and more like Mother,’ he said, setting foot on the house stair. ‘Where is Alys? Catherine’s anxious, and – and Pierre has been hurt. I need
to tell her.’

‘Her father hurt? Oh, Gil. And she feels guilty about what happened,’ said Kate, turning in the doorway so that he could enter the house, ‘but the fault was mine, really it
was. You won’t be angry at her, will you?’

‘Kate, what is this about?’ he asked. ‘How do I know whether I’ll be angry till you tell me what you’re on about? Why would I be angry with Alys anyway?’

‘The inbreak,’ said Kate. ‘Not last night, but the night before. Thursday. We had an inbreak. A thief in the house.’

‘Catherine told me.’

‘Did she tell you there were two?’

‘What, two inbreaks?’ He stared at her. She turned again on her crutches to look at him, and nodded. Then, along the length of the house, from the vapour-bathed doorway beyond the
kitchen, the screaming started.

Gil leapt from the fore-stair and set off running. As he was drawing his sword it dawned on him that it was not an adult screaming. It was a child, terrified.

Kate’s voice followed him: ‘Gil! Gil, come back, it’s all right!’

He kept running.

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Gil, without a great deal of hope. ‘You had two intruders in the place on Thursday night, you caught the first one opening
Augie’s plate-kist, the second one chopped the first one into pieces, and you feel you owe me an apology.’

‘Not really,’ said his sister drily, ‘but I thought you might expect one.’

Alys said nothing. Gil gave her an anxious glance. He could not work out whether she was embarrassed, angry, offended or frightened for her father, and his head was still reeling with the sight
which had met him earlier.

Reaching the door of the – bathhouse, laundryhouse, whatever it was, he had halted, staring, whinger in hand, unable to see the source of the screams. Amid clouds of lantern-lit vapour and
a smell of soap, what seemed like a great number of women appeared and disappeared, sleeves rolled up, muscular forearms wet, around a tent of suspended linen, from which came splashing. Then, as
the steam dissipated at one side of the chamber, he recognized Alys standing in a pool of water, her hair knotted up on top of her head, bending over a screaming, dripping child. A second child
spoke, happily, inside the tent of linen.

‘Maister Gil!’ said someone out of the clouds. Alys straightened up with an exclamation, and he realized she was wearing only a very wet shift, in which she might as well have been
naked. And she was standing next to a lantern.

He had backed away, stammering an apology, sheathing his sword, but he could not get the image out of his mind, of the fine wet linen clinging to her slender curves, of the way the light shone
on shoulder, breast and thigh.

And now Alys, fully dressed, slightly damp and rather pink, was sitting upright and formal on a back-stool opposite him. She had failed to respond to his embrace of greeting, and though she had
listened anxiously to his account of her father’s injuries and accepted his reassurances, she now would not meet his eye. Candlelight gilded her hair and skimmed the blue linen which covered
the glories he had glimpsed. Beside him on the long settle his sister surveyed him with a sardonic expression.

‘Tell me it from the beginning,’ he said, collecting his mind with an effort.

‘Two days since,’ Kate began. ‘St Peter’s bones, was it only Thursday? Andy gave Billy Walker his room, but I managed to speak to the man first.’

As her account of the time since he left Glasgow unfolded, he listened in mounting alarm, visualizing the events she described so tersely.

‘What a thing for the two of you to get entangled in!’ he exclaimed.

‘Alys was out of the worst of it,’ she assured him, looking from one to the other. Alys stared resolutely at the jug of flowers in the fireplace.

‘I wish you had been too,’ he said. ‘The man with the axe is dead – it must be the same man –’

‘Dead?’ she exclaimed. ‘When? How could he be? He was in Glasgow yesterday morning.’

‘He was in Roslin last night. If he left Glasgow when the gates opened,’ Gil calculated, ‘he could have got to Linlithgow in time to gather his friends and follow us from
there. He likely got ahead of us,’ he speculated, sidetracked, ‘when we were up the hillside about the dead pig. But Kate, even so, Augie’s right, you should be out of this house
–’

‘Not till the bairns are safe,’ she stated. ‘Andy’s been too taigled here at the yard to go up for orders the way Maister Morison wished –’

‘What, since yesterday morning? And whose doing was that?’ Gil asked shrewdly. She gave him another wry smile. ‘And Kate, how is it keeping the bairns safe to wash them
–’ he checked, glanced at Alys, swallowed, and went on – ‘to wash them at this hour, with the bathhouse door open and the yard gate unbarred?’

‘And five grown women in the bathhouse along wi them,’ she pointed out. ‘It would be a bold man who took on Babb and Nan Thomson together. They began in daylight, but it took
near an hour to get the older child into the water, poor wee mite. Oh, Nan says she kens you, Gil. Matt brought her in from Dumbarton to mind the bairns.’

‘From Dumbarton?’ he said, diverted again. ‘Oh, I ken who that is. Matt drew her daughter’s rotten tooth last May. I think he’s been courting her ever since,
he’d jump at the chance to get her settled in Glasgow.’ He returned to the point. ‘Kate, you should all be out of the house. Can you not take the bairns somewhere else till
all’s settled, if you’re troubled for them?’

‘Likely I could,’ she said dismissively, ‘but hardly at this hour of night. Now tell us how the Axeman comes to be dead, Gil. Have you found a name for that poor man in the
barrel? What did the King say? How did Maister Mason come to be hurt?’

‘I have the King’s thanks, and the reward for the hoard money,’ he said. ‘Augie can discuss that with Andy. And we’ve a name for the dead man, and I think it was
this Axeman killed him. It was certainly him that injured Pierre. But I’ve still no more than a suspicion of who’s behind this.’

There were steps on the fore-stair, and Babb appeared, carrying a linen-swathed child. She crossed the hall to set her burden down at the door to the stair.

‘Stand nice now,’ she admonished, with a pat to its rear, and turned to speak quietly to her mistress. The child, ignoring the instruction, pattered over to stand directly in front
of Gil. It had a cloud of short, fluffy fair curls, and a penetrating grey stare, and with some surprise he recognized Morison’s younger daughter.

‘Why are you in our house again?’ she demanded. ‘My da’s no here.’

‘I’m here to talk to the ladies,’ he answered her.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m going to marry one of them, and the other is my sister.’

She looked speculatively from Alys to Kate, then put a possessive small hand on Kate’s knee. ‘Can’t have this one.’

‘She’s my sister,’ said Gil. ‘So I can’t marry her.’ Kate’s face was unreadable. The child nodded, and pointed at Alys with the other hand. Some of her
linen wrappings fell away, revealing a thin bare shoulder. Alys smiled at her, but got a scowl in return.

‘You can marry that one. She put Wynliane in the bath.’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘That’s the one I want.
She is gentle and also wise; of all other she beareth the prize.
And when I’ve married her,
I’ll be the most fortunate man in Glasgow.’

‘Huh,’ said the child, and studied him for a moment with that penetrating stare. ‘Can me and Wynliane come to the feast?’

A black-browed woman Gil faintly recalled from a difficult morning in Dumbarton entered the hall with another linen-wrapped child in her arms. She took in the situation and said firmly,
‘Come away now, Ysonde!’ Finding she was ignored, she set down the little girl she carried. There was a small sound of protest, and a hand emerged from its wrappings and clung to her
skirts. ‘Come up, poppet, and go to your bed.’

‘Can we?’ said Ysonde, still staring at Gil.

‘If your da says you may,’ he said diplomatically.

‘Ysonde!’ Mistress Thomson came forward to take her hand, trailing the other child, and paused to bob to Gil. ‘Good e’en to ye, maister. I hope I see you well. Come up,
my lammie. Time you were in your bed.’

‘Ask the lady for her blessing,’ said Ysonde, pulling away and sticking out her lower lip. Her sister, silent within her cocoon of linen, nodded agreement. Kate, to Gil’s
surprise, without hesitation delivered the blessing their mother had used all their lives. Ysonde submitted to being shepherded towards the stairs, and as their new nurse paused at the cupboard by
the doorway to light a candle for the ascent peered past her sister and suddenly gave Gil a brilliant smile.

Babb had gone into the other room, and now returned and strode out of the house with a bundle of linen. Kate watched her go, then said, ‘The Axeman killed the man in the barrel? So does
that mean Augie – Maister Morison’s not like to be tried for the murder?’

Alys raised an eyebrow, with a glance at Gil, before she recalled herself and looked away again.

‘I hope Augie’s in the clear, for we found, or to be exact Socrates found where the man was likely killed, in Linlithgow.’ Kate muttered something, closing her eyes, and
crossed herself. ‘It seems to me Billy was involved in the death, which might be bad for Augie, but Billy’s actions since have not suggested they were in it together.’

‘So what did you find?’ Kate pressed. ‘Tell us.’

‘Can I not get a drink first?’ he parried. ‘Is all the household out at the laundry?’

Alys, tight-lipped and blushing darkly, rose and took a candle out to the kitchen. Gil watched her go, and looked anxiously at his sister, who shook her head and shrugged. After a little Alys
returned with a tray, and handed cups of ale, not looking at Gil and deftly eluding his attempt to touch her fingers as he took his. She had brought a platter of bannocks and cheese; wary of
causing further offence, he took one when she offered it, but when he bit into it found that he was hungry.

‘I needed this,’ he said. She still did not meet his eye, but her expression lightened a little. He went on eating, and between mouthfuls gave them a description, as terse as
Kate’s, of the events of his journey, from the musicians in Stirling to Rob’s burial in Roslin that morning. Alys listened as intently as his sister, and when he described the fight
above Linlithgow her hand went up to her mouth, though she still did not speak. At the mention of de Brinay and his men, Kate clapped her hands together.