‘Rich,’ Gil agreed. Craigie breathed deeply a couple of times, then straightened up with a slight laugh of embarrassment.
‘Never could abide the smell o blood. I couldny ha made a flesher.’
‘Fortunate you went for Holy Kirk instead.’ Gil considered the other man. ‘What way was Dame Ellen kin to you? Are you also kin to her nieces? To the missing woman?’
‘No to the lassies,’ said Craigie, shaking his head, ‘and certainly I’m no kin o Annie Gibb’s. As for — for the depairtit, she’s no true kin o mine, but a connection by way o two or three marriages. It suited her to call me kin, but, well-’
‘Had you any benefit from the claim?’ Gil asked casually. ‘A busy, devout woman like Dame Ellen could be some assistance to a man in Holy Orders, I’d ha thought.’
‘If she was, she’ll no be again,’ said Craigie, and clapped his round felt hat back on his head. ‘You’ll ha to forgive me, Gil, I’m turned all tapsalteerie wi this. Sacrilege like that, and in Glasgow. Who’d ha thought it, even after what came to Barnabas.’ He took another deep breath, and let it out. ‘Assistance. Aye, she’d promised me she’d put a word in for me here and there about Ayrshire and Lanarkshire. She’d a wide acquaintance, and a few o them has fine benefices to hand out.’
‘Had she now?’ said Gil. ‘Yet I’d heard you had words wi her the day.’
‘I did,’ agreed Craigie, after the smallest check, deep regret in his tone. ‘It shames me to admit it, I used language unbecoming a son of Holy Kirk to her. Mind you, the provocation was great,’ he added. ‘The depairtit called me for everything while she was reproaching me.’
‘Wantoun of word, and wox wonder wraith? What was it about?’ Gil asked.
‘It’s no matter now,’ said Craigie, still with that deep regret. ‘The plans can come to nothing.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Gil, ‘I need to hear all she was involved in this last day or two, anything that might ha gone wrong, that might ha provoked sic a death.’
‘Gilbert!’ The other man took a step backwards, raising his hands as if to defend himself. ‘You never- You canny think I’d-’
‘Where were you these two or three hours? Since Vespers, say.’
‘At John Ross’s lodging, where the lad found me. Several of us had dinner sent in from one o the bakehouses after Vespers was done, and sat down to the cards. Ask at them. Ask at Habbie or John or Arthur.’
‘I will,’ said Gil. ‘So what was it Dame Ellen expected of you? What had you planned thegither? Was anyone else involved? I think you hadny completed some task or other.’
‘You’re gey well informed,’ said Craigie stiffly.
‘Aye, well, if you have your discussion here in the yard, you’ll expect to be heard. So what was your task?’
‘Oh, it’s at an end now, no purpose in pursuing it. Poor woman, she’ll do neither hersel nor any other any good now.’
‘William,’ said Gil, summoning patience, ‘I need to hear what it was. Would you rather discuss it somewhere private? We could go back in the chapel, if you like, or Sir Simon would maybe let us use his chamber. Did the matter concern Annie Gibb? I think,’ he said, with a sudden recollection of Canon Muir’s ramblings, ‘you’ve been promoting this match wi Henry or Austin Muir for her, am I right?’
‘Aye, that was it,’ said Craigie, in a kind of sulky relief.
‘So how does that stand the now, wi the lass still missing and no suspicion where she might be?’
‘Oh, it’s all in abeyance, o necessity, though my kinswoman would never accept that, kept urging me to carry the matter forward.’
Interesting, thought Gil, recalling his own interviews with Dame Ellen.
‘Where do you think she might be?’ he asked casually. ‘Annie Gibb, I mean. Where did Dame Ellen think she would return from, if she was still on the market to be wed?’
‘No telling. No telling.’ Craigie shook his head. ‘I’d not think she’s still in Glasgow, you’d ha found her by now, surely. Our Lady alone kens where she’s got to, let alone who set her free, how she got away.’
‘Who could ha done this, would you think?’ Gil nodded at the chapel door. ‘Who’d ha had reason to beat Dame Ellen down like that?’
‘Oh, how would I know? You’re Blacader’s quaestor, no me. She was,’ even by lantern-light it was visible that Craigie controlled his expression, ‘she was a steering woman, generous though she could be, it’s likely she ordered the wrong person to do her bidding.’
‘What’s ado here?’ demanded a sharp voice. Booted feet tramped on the flagstones of the courtyard, and two dark figures emerged from the shadows. Light from Craigie’s lantern glimmered on gold and silver braid, then showed Henry Muir’s face, irritated and impatient. Behind him his brother grinned vaguely, and a Shaw serving-man slipped away into the hall. ‘Oh, no you again! And you and all,’ Henry added to Craigie. ‘Yon fellow says the auld wife’s found dead, is that right? Wi her head beat in? She wasny forced as well, was she?’
‘No, Henry, she-’ began his brother.
‘What did I say?’ Henry turned on him, hand raised, and Austin took a step backwards.
‘Dame Ellen is dead,’ Gil confirmed, ‘and by violence. Will you see her?’
‘No need o that, surely,’ muttered Austin, and flinched at his brother’s sharp movement.
‘We’ll see her,’ said Henry grimly, and flung away towards the chapel door.
Inside the little building, he stared impassively at the grisly sight which Dame Ellen presented in the candlelight, signed himself and muttered a prayer, while his brother peered over his shoulder with a kind of prurient, timorous avidity which Gil found more distasteful than Henry’s reaction.
‘She’s crossed someone for the last time,’ said the older brother after a moment.
‘Did she cross many folk?’ Gil asked.
‘Oh, aye.’ Henry laughed shortly. ‘Easy as breathing. I’ll no speak ill o her afore her face,’ he added, and stepped past Gil to the door. ‘Come on, you.’
‘Will you touch her?’
‘I’ll no!’ said Austin before Henry could answer, ‘for she’ll get up and ca’ me for all things if I do, same as she did on life.’
‘Did she so?’ said Gil. ‘I thought she had a fondness for you both.’
‘Never stopped her miscalling me,’ said Austin, watching anxiously as his brother turned back and bent to touch one of the claw-like hands. ‘Mind her, Henry, she’ll up and fetch you a wallop-’
‘Haud your tongue, daftheid,’ said his brother. ‘She’s cold and stiffening. Why’s she no been washed and laid out, Cunningham? It’s no decent to keep her lying here in her blood. She’ll be past doing anything with afore long.’
‘She could be washed now,’ Gil agreed. ‘And the purification of the chapel can begin.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Henry in a strange tone. ‘Aye, it’ll take a deal o purifying.’
They stepped out into the courtyard just as Canon Muir came hurrying in at the hostel door, exclaiming in agitation, wringing his hands, Attie and his own manservant behind him.
‘Sir Simon! Good Sir Simon, where is he? Tell me it’s no true? It canny be true!’
‘There’s our uncle,’ said Austin unnecessarily. ‘What’s brought him here, then?’
‘Ellen Shaw dead by violence, and in our chapel?’ Canon Muir was saying, and laid hold of Gil’s arm. ‘Gilbert, you here! Tell me it’s no true!’
‘It’s true, sir, though I’m sorry to say it.’ Gil detached the grip on his arm, aware that the Canon’s nephews had contrived to make their escape, as had Craigie. He hoped they had gone into the hall rather than leaving the place. ‘Bide here, I’ll fetch Sir Simon out to you.’
‘But how could it ha happened? Who would do sic a thing, in a chapel, sacred ground!’ The old man was right behind Gil as he opened the chapel door. ‘Is she still in here? Why is she no lifted, can we no start cleansing the place? Sir Simon, how could you let sic a thing happen?’
Sir Simon rose to greet his patron. Gil stood aside, and the Canon rocked back on his heels as he caught sight of the corpse in the blaze of candlelight, and crossed himself, gabbling a prayer.