‘What, Sir Edward and-’
‘No!’ She was laughing, realising he was teasing her. ‘Annie and her doctor. They hardly spoke, only looked, and then she came away.’
‘And you tell me he knew where she was?’ Gil reviewed the several conversations he had had with Doctor Januar. ‘Aye, he never lied to me, he simply concealed the truth.’
‘And when I spoke to him too,’ she agreed.
Behind them the door of the dining hall opened. Annie broke off what she was saying and turned; Doctor Januar smiled at her, faintly, reassuringly, and bowed to Gil.
‘I think you must have questions for me,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Annie to my patient, and come back here.’
By the time he returned, Lockhart was in low-voiced colloquy with Sir Simon and Alys was caught in conversation with the girls. Gil drew the man to a seat at one of the long tables, looking hard at his face. Sir Edward’s deathbed was clearly an ordeal for those who watched with him as well; the blue eyes were shadowed and heavy with disquietude.
‘I’ll apologise first, before I say anything else,’ said the doctor, and once again Gil realised he was staring. ‘Her location had to be a secret. If Dame Ellen had guessed that any of us knew where she was-’
‘I understand,’ Gil said, ‘though the Provost may take a different view. I imagine he’d have been round here by now in person, if he hadny to deal wi Robert Blacader.’ He thought for a moment, and said carefully, ‘I need to know what you saw or heard when you went out of here that night. Annie has told my wife what she knows, which is little enough. What’s your version?’
‘My version.’ Doctor Januar considered for a moment in his turn. ‘I left this place about midnight.’
‘Hold hard,’ said Gil. ‘Lockhart and the others were certain nobody had left the men’s hall.’
‘I made certain they slept soundly,’ said the doctor simply. ‘As well as my patient. I left about midnight, and made my way down this street here.’ He waved a narrow, elegant hand towards the hostel gate. ‘I may tell you, magister, that the door does not make a loud noise, or at least it did not when I closed it on my return.’ He frowned, and turned the blue gaze on Gil. ‘That is curious. It slammed behind me when I left, though I tried to close it quietly, but not when I returned. I had not thought of that before.’
‘Did it, now,’ said Gil. ‘It was quiet last night. I wonder if it has been greased recently. Go on.’
‘A little way down the street, I fell over a dead woman.’
‘How dead? I mean, how long had she been dead?’
‘She had barely begun to stiffen about the neck and jaw. I could still determine her neck was broken.’ Doctor Januar bent his head. ‘I am not proud of what I did next. It occurred to me that this poor soul could give us some time, that if Annie’s men-’
‘Yes, I know that bit. So you took her along with you. In a sense,’ Gil admitted, ‘you did her a favour, for it meant her death came to my attention. I haven’t yet tracked her killer, but I hope we’ll find justice for her. There was nobody about when you found her?’
‘Nobody. The place was silent, save for an owl over by the Cathedral.’
‘And you heard nothing stirring when you came back with Annie?’
‘We heard and saw one man,’ said the doctor precisely, ‘with a handcart.’
‘Ah! Where was he?’
‘He came out of Rottenrow, I think you call it, and wheeled the thing towards St Mungo’s.’ Januar grimaced. ‘We had hidden in the same shadow where I found the dead woman, and he did not see us. I heard him go in at a gate, and then a door opened and closed, and I heard the wheels no longer. It was dead of night, every sound carried.’
‘And that was all you heard.’
‘All I heard. Except-’ He paused, and bit his lip. ‘I’m not certain, you understand. I was weary. I thought I was weary,’ he corrected himself, ‘though now I know I am. When I came away from the house where I left Annie, it seemed to me something stirred, away down the street. I waited, and listened, but nothing more moved.’
‘A cat, maybe? A fox?’
Januar considered this, but shook his head.
‘Something man sized. I think I was not the only one out in the burgh that night.’
‘Will you come out and show me where you found the body?’
‘Indeed,’ said the doctor. ‘I am glad to do something for her. She has been on my conscience. She was one of the women of the town, I take it? One of the town harlots?’
‘She was.’
‘I thought so. I could smell the clap on her.’
‘Smell it?’ Gil repeated involuntarily, holding the hostel door open for his companion. ‘Wait a moment. I wanted to check these hinges.’
He leaned into the shadows behind the door and sniffed cautiously at the uppermost hinge. Socrates came back in from the street to see what he was doing, and snuffled curiously at the lower one. There was the odour of ancient wood and rust, and over it, quite certainly, mutton fat. Gil touched a finger to the iron loop and pin, and inspected more closely. There was fat smeared on the metal, recently enough not to have turned rancid.
‘I’m agreed,’ said Januar, sniffing with equal caution.
‘So the hinges have been greased,’ Gil said. ‘I wonder who by? I need to check with Bessie and her man.’ He stepped out into the street. ‘You were saying you could smell the clap on the dead woman.’
‘Oh, yes. The discharge has a very characteristic odour in the female subject. In the male, because of the difference in the way he is clothed, it is less apparent. Often the most prominent symptom to the onlooker is the choleric temper, which can go to extremes.’
‘A choleric temper,’ Gil said, aware that he was repeating things again.
‘Indeed. In the later stages of the disease it can give rise to uncontrollable rages.’ Januar paused, pointing at the wall of St Serf’s almshouse, below the chapel window. ‘I found her about here. I cannot be certain, but I think this was the gable. She lay with her head against it and her legs across the path, as if she was flung there and so broke her neck.’
‘Hmm,’ said Gil. ‘No chance anyone heard anything, the almshouse brothers would all have retired for the night by the time she died.’
‘I would say so,’ agreed Januar. Gil looked about him, considering the distance from the Girth Cross to where they stood. Socrates joined them, carefully quartering the area they were looking at. ‘She was in deep shadow,’ the doctor added. ‘That was why I fell over her.’
‘Aye, the moon was throwing strong shadows.’ Gil turned, to set off back to St Catherine’s. ‘My thanks, Doctor. You’ve given me a deal to think about.’
‘The Canon’s no here, Maister Cunningham,’ said Canon Muir’s servant. ‘He’s away to this special meeting o the Chapter, ye ken. It’ll likely be a while.’
‘No matter,’ said Gil easily. ‘It was just to confirm a couple o things, you’ll likely be able to tell me just as well.’
‘Me, maister?’ said the man dubiously. ‘I’m no privy to the Canon’s business, it’s no my place to tell things.’ He glanced over his shoulder, into the house. ‘And I’ve the Canon’s dinner to get, I’ve no time to-’
‘I’m happy enough in a kitchen,’ Gil assured him. ‘I’ll sit by while you work, so long as you can answer me.’
Reluctantly persuaded, the man led Gil through the dark entry of the house into a large, vaulted kitchen. Light from high narrow windows showed kists and presses, two broad dusty tables, a charcoal range with no fire in it, a wide hearth where another man rose, startled, doffing his cap to the stranger.
‘Here’s Nory, that’s servant to our guests,’ said Canon Muir’s man. ‘This is Canon Cunningham’s nevvy from across the way, Nory, that’s hunting down the lassie missing from the Cross that your maisters is hoping to wed wi.’ He caught up a basket of vegetables, a knife, a chopping-board, and drew another stool to the hearth. ‘Hae a seat, maister, and ask away, and you’ll forgive me if I get on wi my tasks like you said I should.’