‘Was Frankie upset by the shouting last night?’ Gil asked.
‘I missed the worst o’t,’ confessed Bel with regret, ‘for I was early away, but Eppie said she was. She said it was as good as a play, save that the wee one was screaming, for my mistress was weeping, and the maister was shouting that he’d leave his property where he wished and she’d no claim on him whatever she said, and her brother was roaring like the devil on a cart, raging up and down wi his gown swinging, trying to say the maister owed her for her maidenhead, and he said — ’ She stopped. Gil made an interrogative noise. ‘Forget what I was saying,’ she said unconvincingly
‘He said?’ Gil prompted.
‘I forget!’ she said again.
‘And at supper,’ said Gil after a moment, steering them both past a sagging midden. ‘What was it he said at supper? You were there, were you no?’
‘Oh, that was about altering his will,’ she said in some relief, ‘like Eppie tellt you, sir. And he’d other plans. He never said what they were,’ she added regretfully, ‘but I suppose they’ll all come to naught now.’
‘Aye, likely,’ agreed Gil.
She came to a halt under a lantern at the mouth of a vennel and let go his arm. ‘This is me here, maister. And thank you kindly for your company, sir.’ She bobbed to him. ‘I’ve been right glad of it, sir, for there was someone watching the house when I came out.’
‘Watching the house?’ Gil repeated. ‘Mistress Veitch’s house? How do you know?’
‘I seen him when I came out,’ she assured him. ‘He was standing in the corner atween the two houses across the vennel, but I got just a glimp when I put my own light up to be sure I’d shut the kitchen door right.’
‘What, just standing there?’
She nodded, her plaid falling back from her face in the light from the lantern overhead.
‘Standing watching the house, looking up at the lighted windows above. A big wicked-looking man wi a great black beard. I’ll be keeping an eye out when I go to work the morn, you can believe it, sir.’
‘Nobody you knew? Had he a weapon?’
She shook her head.
‘Never seen him afore in my life,’ she asserted. ‘I never saw a sword or nothing, but likely it was hid under his cloak. So I was right glad of your company the now, sir. My thanks on it.’ She bobbed again, and turned away into the narrow space between the houses. Gil waited until her lantern vanished into the shadows, and went on down the street, frowning.
‘Your sister’s to lie at the castle?’ said Nick Kennedy, pouring wine. ‘Oh, aye, the guest-hall they keep for visiting religious. Well, it saves your uncle having to fit her and her folk in at Rottenrow. And what like is Agnew’s lodging?’
‘Very comfortable,’ said Gil. He accepted a glass of sweet golden Malvoisie and said thoughtfully, ‘What can you tell me about the man Naismith, Nick?’
Maister Kennedy fitted his feet beside Gil’s on the box of smouldering charcoal on the hearth.
‘No a lot, you know,’ he said, and paused to consider the wine in his own glass. ‘Patey was right, this is no bad. I must tell John Shaw that. The last barrel he got for us wasny fit to drink. Sharp as verjuice, and I’d swear there’d been a cat at it.’
‘I think I had some of the same shipment from Agnew the now,’ said Gil.
His friend grinned, and went on, ‘No, I’ve no much information about Naismith. He’d been in Irvine, so he said once, but he came from, let me see, somewhere out into Stirlingshire, away up the Kelvin. Lenzie or somewhere like that,’ said Maister Kennedy, an Ayrshire man.
‘Did you see him wi the old men? The brothers? How was he wi them?’
‘Ah.’ Nick peered into his glass of Malvoisie again, but found no inspiration in it. After a moment he said, ‘I’ll tell you this, Gil. For all Sissie Mudie talks like a cut throat, she’s a good nurse to those old men, and she kens herbs like no other, and to see her wi poor Humphrey Agnew would lesson anyone in charity. But even wi her in the place, I’d not have cared to put any kin of mine there under Naismith’s governance.’
‘Is that right?’ said Gil.
Nick shot him a glance, and said, ‘What do you know, then? I’ve seen that expression afore.’
‘I’d a word wi old Frankie Veitch. He taught me my letters in Hamilton, before I came here to the grammar school.’
‘You know everyone.’
‘No quite. I didny know this man Naismith,’ Gil said, ‘and I don’t much like what I hear of him. An orgulous knight, as Malory says.’ He related Maister Veitch’s assessment of the inhabitants of the bedehouse, and Nick nodded.
‘I’ve heard the Deacon, making a game of one or another of them. None of that surprises me. But I wouldny say …’ he paused, ‘I wouldny say any of the old men had the strength to stab a man three times, nor to drag him out where we found him, even old Veitch. Sissie might,’ he added dispassionately, ‘and Andro’s a different matter, but you’ve seen what a nervish, loup-at-shadows creature he is.’
‘Aye.’ Gil held out his glass. ‘Is there any more of that Malvoisie? We wouldny want it to spoil. Tell me, was Naismith a man of habit? Was he at Mass every morning?’
Maister Kennedy paused with the jug in his hand. ‘Most mornings, I’d say, but not every morning.’
‘And in his own stall?’
‘When he was there? Oh, aye. Well, usually. Odd times he was late, he’d slip in at the tail and sit near the choir door.’
‘Oh.’ Gil accepted the returned glass. ‘Next to Anselm?’
‘Oh, you’ve heard about that, have you,’ said Nick, as Maister Veitch had done. ‘No, he wouldny sit next to Anselm. I’m told it can be gey cold in the stall next to Anselm.’
‘Lowrie thought he saw him in that stall this morning, but Millar said it was more likely this other — ’ He stopped, shaking his head.
‘Mm,’ said Nick. ‘No this morning.’
‘You’re very sure.’
‘Sure enough.’ He gave Gil a doubtful look. ‘You’re no priested, this may not make sense to you.’
‘Try me.’
‘Aye, well. I don’t see Anselm’s friend myself but — Look, when you say a Mass, it’s no always the same. Sometimes your words come right back at you as if you were standing next a wall, and sometimes they vanish as if you were speaking down a well,’ said Nick hesitantly, ‘but sometimes — sometimes it’s as if something — someone else you canny see joins in wi you, and the whole thing takes a life of its own. You ken?’
‘Like prayer,’ said Gil simply.
Nick nodded in relief. ‘Aye, exactly. Well, in St Serf’s, when it’s one of the good Masses, the better Masses I mean, then when we go to get a sup of porridge wi the old men, Anselm will be yapping on about his friend being there. It aye happens. And once or twice, when Naismith was making a joke of it at Anselm, trying to make out he’d seen the extra brother himself that day, I could tell what Anselm was going to say for it hadny been one of the uplifted Masses.’
‘And?’
‘It wasny one this morn. What was Anselm saying?’
‘Anselm agreed wi you. So far as he was making sense at all,’ Gil qualified.
Nick’s dark-browed face split in a grin, then became serious. ‘So who did Lowrie see? The boy’s sharp-eyed and sensible, I’d believe he saw something, so who was it?’
‘That’s one of the things I need to find out.’ Gil took another sip of wine. ‘You mentioned Humphrey Agnew, Nick. How was Naismith with him?’
‘No bad, for all his faults, and for all the names Humphrey called him. Better than the poor soul’s brother, at all events. I’ve seen Naismith help Sissie to get Humphrey out the way and calmed down when his brother’s got him rampaging.’
‘The brothers Agnew don’t get on?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Tammas never humours Humphrey. He starts reciting the Apocalypse and Tammas says, No need for that now, or Calm down, Humphrey. Humphrey tells you the Deacon’s a shrike and Tammas tells him no to be ridiculous. A quarter-hour of that and Humphrey goes for his throat, tries to throttle him. Nearly got him a couple of times that I’ve seen,’ he asserted, ‘but the Deacon dragged him away and Sissie got Humphrey out the room. The poor man ought to be somewhere he can be locked up, but he’s happy at St Serf’s.’