‘I do,’ she said composedly. ‘Though perhaps I could speak to the man on the Stablegreen, to let Lowrie leave earlier.’
‘A good notion. I hope your plans don’t involve being seized and held at knifepoint.’
‘So do I.’
‘Et moi aussi, par ma foi,’ said her father with emphasis, and got to his feet. They all rose with him. ‘I must be gone. But I wished to say to you, ma mie.’ He looked seriously at Alys. ‘Élise told me you had been to the house, and I am glad of it. Do you think you will be better friends now?’
She curtsied to him, bending her head so that Gil could not see her expression.
‘My good-mother made me most welcome,’ she said. Maistre Pierre frowned, but did not press his question; instead he delivered a brief blessing and allowed Gil to accompany him to the back door of the house. Socrates passed them in the doorway and padded out into the evening, sniffing at corners.
‘I do not know what they discussed,’ Maistre Pierre said, a slight unease audible in his voice.
‘Some women’s matter, perhaps,’ Gil suggested. Out across the yard the kitchen door opened, and the servants emerged, still chattering, heading for the main house and their beds. Seeing their master and their former master in the doorway they fell silent and waited politely while Gil bade his father-in-law goodnight and saw him walk off into the twilight, then all filed in, offering their own goodnights in turn. The dog, his patrol completed, returned with them, and Euan followed, raising his blue bonnet and ducking his head with a sheepish grin. Gil closed the door behind Jennet, who was last, and grasped her wrist before she could reach the stairs.
‘A moment, lass,’ he said. She shrank slightly away from him, and he let go of her, aware of faint dismay. Other men might prey on the women of their households, but it was not his way; he had thought they all recognised that. Or was it simply that all the women were upset this evening? ‘Jennet, what ails your mistress?’ he asked quietly. ‘Was it something Mistress McIan said? Were you there wi her?’
‘I’ve no right knowledge,’ she said after a little pause. ‘I was the other end o the hall, you understand, Maister Gil. Maister,’ she corrected herself. He grunted agreement. ‘I never heard what — what she said, only what my mistress answered. She was wishing her well, if you understand me.’ Her face tilted in the shadows as if she gave him a significant look.
‘Wishing her well,’ he repeated flatly. Comprehension dawned. ‘Sweet St Giles, you mean-?’
‘That was all I heard,’ said Jennet, equally flatly.
‘Pierre has said nothing!’ he said, almost to himself.
‘She’ll no have let him know yet, it’s ower soon, when you think when they were wed. Likely my mistress surprised it out o her, you ken what she’s like for people saying things to her they never meant to say.’ She put out a hand as if to touch his wrist, and withdrew it. ‘Whatever it was madam told her, it turned her right kinna wavelly, she wasny fit to walk home. I got her to Lady Kate’s house, and we made her rest, and she recovered a bit. But there was something else I did hear and it seems like my mistress didny catch it right, and she wouldny let me tell her it.’
‘Should you be telling me?’ he asked.
‘I ken fine madam has what these Ersche call the Sight,’ Jennet persisted, ‘and she told my mistress she’d seen her, more than once she said, wi two bairns about her. One bairn, it might just be wee John, but two bairns is what she said.’
No wonder she would not hear it, Gil thought. She dare not get her hopes up.
‘Away up to your bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll unlace your mistress when we go up. Goodnight, lass. Christ guard your sleep.’
‘Good night, Maister Gil,’ she said gently. ‘God rest you.’
She bobbed a curtsy and slipped away up the stair, and he bent to set the bar in its socket, considering this news. It sat in the midst of his thoughts like a boulder; he could hardly work out how he felt about it himself, but it was certainly what had distressed Alys, and with her the whole household of women.
He turned to go back into the solar, where light under the door suggested that Alys had lit candles. The dog suddenly growled, and left him to rush away across the hall, his claws rattling on the floorboards, to stand with his muzzle against the front door, still growling.
‘What is it?’ Gil asked him, and was answered by a rattle of the tirling-pin and then a loud knocking. Light grew as the door of the solar was flung wide behind him, and he strode to his dog’s side. Another customer for the bawdy-house, he thought, who has not heard that the business has closed. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded. ‘Who’s knocking?’
‘Maister Cunningham? Maister Cunningham?’ came the answer, muffled only slightly by the broad planks. ‘Can ye come out, maister? It’s another death!’
It was the manservant from St Catherine’s, out of breath and wild with distress. Standing in the hall while Lowrie lit more candles and Gil pulled his boots back on, he gave a partially articulate account of the matter.
‘It was my wife found her,’ he said, pulling a hand across his face, ‘poor lass, she’s right owerset, after the other one, and we canny think how it happened. We’re all that distracted, and the lassies weeping and all, you need to come and see, maister. Sir Simon sent me,’ he added with a sudden access of coherence, ‘bade me ask you to come right away.’
‘But who’s dead?’ Lowrie asked. He kicked off his slipslops and reached for his own boots. Alys appeared from the stair, her plaid over her arm.
‘She’s in the chapel,’ said the man.
‘In the chapel?’ Gil repeated in dismay.
‘Aye, which isny good, I can tell you, maister, it’s going to take some cleaning, there’s blood on all the tiles, never mind the- And the glaze wore off them a’ready, we’ll maybe need to get the floor- And Sir Simon reckoning how long till we can reconsecrate, and Christ assoil me, sic a beating as she’s had, it’s like the other one-’
‘Who is dead?’ Alys asked. She had more success: the man stopped, drew a breath, crossed himself, and said more rationally,
‘It’s the auld wife. The dame that’s wi the party.’
‘Dame Ellen?’ said Gil, looking up from his buckles.
‘Aye, her. God rest her.’
‘But what has happened? She is in the chapel, you said?’ Alys came forward, drawing her plaid about her. ‘Is it certain she is dead?’
‘Oh, aye.’ The man swallowed. ‘Naeb’dy’s head’s that shape that isny dead.’
This was certainly the case, Gil reflected, studying the body of Dame Ellen by the light of two great racks of candles. He was glad Alys had remained in the courtyard, where the woman Bessie was still sobbing under her apron.
‘What has she been struck wi?’ he wondered aloud.
‘Our good candlestick,’ said Sir Simon glumly. ‘It’s all ower blood and brains, see.’ He indicated the object, its pewter gleam sullied and blackened by what stuck to it. ‘He’s likely all ower blood himsel, the way it’s spattered, whoever’s done it. What a task we have ahead o us, getting this back the way it should be, let alone what Robert Blacader will have to say about it. As for when he’s next in Glasgow, to reconsecrate-’ He sat down again, rather heavily, on the wall-bench where Gil had found him. ‘I keep thinking o other things to be done. The Blessed Sacrament to be destroyed by fire- Who’d do sic a deed in the presence o the Host, can you credit it? The vestments and hangings to be cleaned and reconsecrate. What will Blacader say?’
‘This is worse than what came to Peg Simpson,’ said Gil. ‘Let alone the sacrilege. And that’s far worse than what happened wi Barnabas.’ He looked round as Lowrie came pallidly back into the little building, keeping his eyes averted from the body. ‘Where are they all? The family, the servants?’