‘Was that all you were wanting?’ she asked. Then, perhaps recognising that she sounded ungracious, ‘No that you are not welcome in your faither’s house, lassie. Will you take another cake?’
‘Thank you.’ Alys took another oatcake, then offered the platter to her stepmother, who shook her head curtly. ‘No, I wished a word with you as well, Ealasaidh.’
‘Oh?’
They had dealt with the health and progress of small John, Ealasaidh’s nephew, along with two clever things he had said, and agreed on the management of whatever ailed young Berthold with a harmonious exchange of receipts for afflictions of the spirits. Now Alys bit into the oatcake, which was smeared with some of the apricot preserve she had left in the stillroom. Across the hall, Jennet was seated primly in the window, looking with disapproval at the floor, which was certainly dusty. Trying not to follow her gaze, Alys said,
‘When you were travelling about Scotland,’ she met her stepmother’s eye and quailed at the expression in it, ‘did you ever know, did you ever hear of,’ she corrected herself, ‘a chapman called Cadger Billy? He trades in Lanarkshire, that I know of.’
‘I have heard o him,’ admitted Ealasaidh remotely. ‘We never played for the great houses out in Lanarkshire, you understand, they have no appreciation of the clarsadh there, but I have heard of Cadger Billy.’
‘Do you know where he comes from?’
The other woman shrugged.
‘They know him out by Dumbarton, and by Kirkintilloch. I never met the man.’
‘That is helpful,’ Alys said thoughtfully. ‘His circuit centres on Glasgow, perhaps.’
‘Why do you ask? Is there no enough goods in Glasgow for you?’
‘He called more than once at the home of the lassie that is missing,’ she explained. ‘I wonder if he might have carried some word for her.’
‘Very likely. Who better, indeed? Is that you helping your man again? Have you learned aught to avail him?’
Recognising the real meaning of the question, Alys recounted all that was known of the two deaths and the disappearance. As was her habit, Ealasaidh listened with many exclamations of shock and surprise, even to the portions she must have heard already, laughed heartily at the tale of the quest and the two verdicts, and finally said,
‘And you are thinking our laddie might be involved?’
‘I think he may have seen something. My father has told me you see shadows around the boy.’ Ealasaidh’s mouth tightened, but she nodded. ‘Do you know what they mean?’
‘No.’ She waited, and after a moment the other woman went on, ‘I am seeing a darkness about him, like death. It is not a death close to him, or danger of death, I am thinking, but I do not know what it betokens. And also I am seeing crows.’
‘Crows,’ Alys repeated. ‘That is very strange.’
‘Three of them,’ Ealasaidh said. Her strong mouth twisted wryly. ‘As in the song, you ken it? Three crows on a wall. I am not understanding it.’
‘On a cold and a frosty morning. Has he mentioned crows?’
‘He has said nothing. He is frightened, that is very clear. Maybe I will make himself question him again.’
‘I think that might not work,’ Alys protested, ‘for he has already lied to my father. No, leave him, we might get something from him once he has thought for longer. If Gil learns more about what he might have seen, we may be able to question him more closely.’
Ealasaidh grunted, but said after a moment, ‘A shocking thing it is, all this that has happened, and all around St Mungo’s too. You would be thinking the saint would be protecting his own better than that. No doubt he is revenged on the man Barnabas now. Himself was telling me of that last night.’
‘He likes to talk over the day,’ said Alys cautiously. Her stepmother gave her a suspicious look. She smiled, the same smile as she had shown her father, maintaining it with the same slight effort. ‘He has missed my mother sorely these seven years. I am glad he has you to talk to.’
Ealasaidh’s expression softened slightly.
‘It is good of you to be saying that, lassie,’ she said.
‘Oh, yes,’ Alys assured her. ‘My duty is with Gil’s household, after all, now he has his own roof-tree, and my father would be alone, since he has no other child.’
There was a silence, which extended beyond comfort and into an appalled chill. She felt her face solidify, and the shadows in the hall darkened and danced before her eyes. Christ aid me, she thought, surely not? Not already? Out of the darkness Ealasaidh’s voice said,
‘I would not have told you yet, lassie. Himself does not know, I have only now begun to sicken.’
‘I wish you,’ she said from a dry mouth, ‘I wish you well. I wish you very well.’
A hard hand closed over hers, just as she had clasped Johan’s.
‘Alys.’ Was that the first time the woman had used her name? ‘I take that very kindly, lassie. Are you,’ the strong-featured face emerged from the dancing shadows close to hers, ‘are you well? Will I call for a cordial?’
‘No, I,’ she rose unsteadily, ‘I must go. I must call on, call on,’ she swallowed, ‘I must make other calls.’
Jennet was exclaiming at her elbow, concern in her tone, and her stepmother spoke again, low and intense, though she could not catch the words. Jennet said,
‘What are you telling her, mistress? Get away from her, leave her alone!’
‘She needs to know this.’
‘Leave her, mistress, can you no see she’s no well? She can hear it later. Come away, mem, can you manage the stair?’
By the time they had traversed the courtyard and the pend which led out into the street she was shivering so her teeth chattered, and clinging to Jennet’s hand.
‘What is it, my dearie?’ her maid demanded, pulling her plaid about her shoulders for her. ‘What’s come to you? What will I do for you, lassie?’ The girl looked about her, as if for help. ‘Are you ill right enough? Oh, how will I get you home from here? Can you walk?’
‘Kate,’ she managed. What shall I do, what shall I do? went the thoughts in her head.
‘Leddy Kate! A course, that’s the answer. Come on, my lassie, just a few steps. Our Lady send she’s home, or some of them at least.’
One foot in front of the other. Her legs like hanks of yarn, Jennet’s arm strong about her waist. Voices round her, familiar and friendly.
‘Mercy on us, girl, what’s come to your mistress? Babb, fetch me the angelica cordial and a glass.’
‘I dinna ken, mem, we called on her good-mother, then she went like this when we cam to leave. I canny get her home this way.’
‘Alys? Alys, what ails you?’
‘It was something the auld wife said to her.’ Jennet’s voice was dark with suspicion. ‘My mistress wished her well, but it turned her right dwaibly, it did, for all that.’
‘What did she say? Bring her here.’ The familiar thumping of her sister-in-law’s crutches. She was led forward, pushed onto something soft, made to lie back. ‘Cover her wi this, she’s cold as charity. Alys? Can you hear me?’
She nodded, and a warm hand gripped hers.
‘I’ve no a notion what she said, mem, but my mistress was wishing her well,’ Jennet repeated. There was a pause, as if the two exchanged a glance, and Kate’s voice said,
‘I see. Aye, Babb, bring that here. Alys? A wee drop cordial?’
‘I feel a right fool,’ she said.
‘Rubbish,’ said Kate briskly. Seated in the window-space, the cradle at her feet and her son at her breast, she peered at Alys across the hall chamber. ‘I’ll not ask what your good-mother told you, but if it’s what I think it is, it would owerset anybody. Are you feeling better after that wee sleep?’
‘I should get up the road and see to the dinner.’
‘Kittock can make the dinner by herself, she’s done it a few times,’ Kate retorted. ‘You’ll leave here when I say you’re fit to go. What took you to that house, anyway? I thought you wereny on calling terms?’