‘His man of law, you mean?’ That must be land from her father’s property, not her mother’s dowry. Unless it was entailed, James Gibb would be entitled to leave it as he wished.
‘Is that no what I said?’
‘So her mother,’ said Gil, trying to sum this up, ‘came from Renfrewshire, this place Crosslee, and had lands about there maybe.’
‘Oh, I wouldny ken about that.’
‘And there was her father’s land in Ayrshire, about Tarbolton and Cumnock.’ Sawney nodded. ‘Had Annie no connection about Glasgow? No land here, maybe an agent, any kin or friends dwelling in Glasgow? Or even in Rutherglen?’
‘No that I ever heard, maister,’ said Sawney earnestly. ‘If her mother’s lands was by Crosslee, like you said, that’s ayont Paisley, or so I’ve heard. That’s no so far distant fro’ Glasgow, I suppose.’
‘Was any of the people about James Gibb’s house from Glasgow?’ Gil persisted, clutching at straws. ‘Other servants, Mistress Wallace’s women, any like that?’
‘No that I can mind.’ Sawney shook his head. ‘Maister, it’s six year since I set een on any o them, and the household was all broke up when my maister dee’d, I’ve never a notion. What’s more, if any o them had a connection wi our Annie, sent her news or the like, the rest o the house at Glenbuck would ha got to hear of it, you can be sure o that.’ He met Gil’s sceptical glance, and jerked his head towards the women’s hall. ‘Dame Ellen doesny let much stir about the place wi’out she has a finger in the matter. Or her whole hand,’ he added rather bitterly.
‘Aye, and it’s as well somebody does,’ pronounced Dame Ellen from the doorway of the hall. She advanced on Gil, simpering, her two nieces peering out of the door behind her. ‘I’m sure you’ve more to be about, maister, than let this fellow keep you back from your tasks. Away back to the stable, Sawney, and clean that wheen harness.’
‘It’s cleaned,’ muttered Sawney.
‘I sent for him,’ said Gil, raising his hat to Dame Ellen and then to her nieces, at which they giggled nervously. ‘He’s been a great help.’ He nodded dismissal to the man, who escaped with something like relief on his face. ‘Did Sir Simon say you’d gone over to St Mungo’s the day?’
‘We were there all morning.’ She folded her arms, hitching up her substantial bosom, and jerked her head at her nieces. ‘Away back to your needlework, you lassies, and Meggot can oversee you. Aye, sir,’ she gave him a smile with far too many teeth in it, ‘we were in St Mungo’s, making our devotions at his tomb, praying for an easy passage for my poor brother. I’ve left coin for a couple Masses the day, to relieve his going. They’re a wee bit ower-set the day, even my kinsman,’ she added, her tone souring. ‘Seems as if none o them can think beyond this fellow put down the well. What’s a well doing in a great kirk, anyway? Just asking to have things put down it, so it is. I never heard o sic a thing afore.’
‘It’s said to be St Mungo’s well itself.’
She gave him another of those dreadful smiles.
‘So my kinsman tells me. Any road, that’s where we’ve been.’
‘I hope it gave you comfort,’ he said conventionally. ‘Tell me, madam, whose idea was it to bring Annie Gibb to St Mungo’s? What prompted the journey? It’s a long road, particularly with your brother in such a sad way.’
‘Aye, my poor brother,’ she said again, and crossed herself. ‘Why, it was his idea, maister. Took the notion into his head to see his good-daughter cured afore he departs, and nothing would do but we must all convoy him to Glasgow town in a great procession.’
‘And if she was cured? What did he plan for her then?’
‘Oh, sir, I’ve never a notion. He never discussed the likes o that wi me.’
Did he not? thought Gil sceptically. But I’ll wager you discussed it with him, even if you got no answers.
‘You never thought o wedding her to one o your Muir kinsmen?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ she admitted, with another toothy smile, ‘but the lassie never favoured either o them, even had she no been melancholy-mad. A pity, they’re two bonnie laddies, and well to do, at least Henry is, but there you are, lassies will be lassies.’
‘Is there anyone else that came seeking her particularly?’ he asked. ‘Anyone that might think it worthwhile stealing her away, wedding her by force?’
‘Oh, is that what you’re thinking now?’ She stared at him in amazement. ‘Oh, no, sir, that’s never what’s come to her, surely! I fear the only way we’ll find her now is by leaving her to lie under whatever dyke till she’s stinking. I tell you, it’s like to break my poor brother’s heart if he’s to meet his end no knowing what’s come to her.’
‘Lockhart’s out searching, so I believe,’ Gil observed. She showed her teeth again.
‘If he feels he’s being useful, I suppose. Well, I’ll not keep you back. You’ve enough to do, I don’t doubt.’ She nodded to him, and turned away to the women’s hall.
As the heavy door swung shut behind her, hasty feet sounded in the passage from the outer courtyard, and Henry Muir burst from the entry, his brother on his heels.
‘Where’s my- Oh, it’s you,’ he said, frowning at Gil. ‘Where’s Dame Ellen? Do you ken aught o this new matter at St Mungo’s?’
‘New matter?’ Gil raised an eyebrow. Muir shook his head impatiently.
‘Another death. One o their vergers, so the Canon told us, bound wi ropes and put down a well. A right strange thing. He said he was strangled and all. Is it aught to do wi Annie? Or this other hoor that was in her place?’
‘Aye, but Henry, that wasny-’ began his brother. Muir lifted a threatening hand, and Austin fell silent.
‘No connection that I can see,’ Gil said. ‘It seems as if the man was thieving goods from the Almoner’s stores, and I wonder if his death is linked to that.’
‘Oh.’ Muir stared at him, frowning, and Gil studied the man in return. He was garbed today in a high-necked doublet of dark red velvet, the breast and stiff collar embroidered with silken pinks and bright green leaves, the cuffs of its tight sleeves turned back with, yes, gold brocade.
‘You were out again the night Annie went to the Cross,’ he said. Muir gave him a challenging nod. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Down the High Street.’ The other man snorted in what seemed to be amusement. ‘There was some kind o prentice ploy on at the Girth Cross, daft laddies all about the place and getting shoved into the burn, we’d to avoid them. We never went near Annie, if that’s what you’re asking. Her own servants had an eye to her, we’d no need to get involved.’
‘And yet I heard you’d a notion to wed her yourself,’ said Gil. ‘It would ha been a nice attention, to keep watch for her.’
‘Where did you hear that?’ demanded Muir, but his brother was grinning and nodding.
‘Oh, aye,’ he said, ‘Henry’s right inclined to Annie, or he was, till she-’ He broke off as Muir turned to glare at him.
‘Till she what?’ Gil asked innocently.
‘Till she vanished,’ said Muir aggressively.
‘What were you wearing that night?’
‘Wearing? Why? D’ye think I have aught to do wi her disappearing?’
‘No,’ said Gil mildly. ‘I just wondered what sic a well-dressed fellow as yourself might wear to go out on the town.’
‘Oh, that’s easy tellt,’ said Austin irrepressibly, as his brother glanced up and down Gil’s well-worn black garb, ‘for it was your blue brocade, and the satin doublet under it, was it no, Henry, and I had on my grey velvet. Aye, it was the brocade,’ he went on, ‘for you got ale on your good ’broidered shirt, Nory was right displeased at you, though it never went on the brocade.’