A Cruel Courtship (21 page)

Breathing hard, she retraced her steps and met Sandy in the wynd that led to Evota’s. He paused.

‘Did she give you any trouble?’ Celia asked quietly.

Sandy shook his head. ‘But the other wanted to know why you hurried away.’

‘What other?’

‘A tall Englishman. Soldier.’ He kept his voice low and nervously glanced back towards the house.

Celia, heart pounding, moved towards Evota’s in the shadows and was almost caught in her spying by the man she so feared. Now he knew she was aware of him. Perhaps it meant nothing. But she was very much afraid.

Back on Bow Street, as they paused to let some people past, she asked Sandy what he had said to the soldier’s question.

‘That you were not to be hanging about me so you’d hoped to run off before they saw you,’ he said, blushing.

Celia almost hugged him, but restrained herself and merely thanked him.

‘Do you know the lad I followed?’

Sandy nodded as he looked at her with curiosity. ‘You don’t? But you followed him.’

‘We have not been introduced,’ she said, for it was unwise to let the groom know she knew of him. ‘What is his name?’

‘Archie. So that is why you called him a “boy”? He is small, but so are they all in that family.’

‘You said he is trouble?’

‘Trouble for ladies is what I meant. I never thought, but mayhap they all think him a lad and no trouble in that way, you see, and then – well, there are many short children born to the poor wenches of these parts.’ Sandy was blushing furiously by now.

‘You don’t think I would–’ She stopped herself.

‘Forgive me. I just thought to warn you.’

Celia was irked that he thought her in danger of being lured into sin by Archie. She was older than her mistress, for pity’s sake. But he meant well, and the information might prove useful in some way, though she didn’t see quite how at present.

‘We should have a care when we’re abroad,’ said Celia hoping to lure Sandy to gossip. ‘I would not wish to meet up with the goldsmith’s murderer.’

‘If as some say his wife killed him you’ve nothing to fear.’

‘His wife?’

‘Others say it was a neighbour whose son was killed by the English in a skirmish last summer, or the one whose son was hanged for a traitor. But all say it was punishment for giving so much money to the English.’

God help us
, Celia silently prayed. ‘Who is looking into the matter?’

‘I doubt that anyone is. The English are too busy and the townsfolk don’t care. We must get this to the house. I’ve work to do.’

Celia couldn’t believe that no one cared – she certainly did. But she knew it was not safe for either her or her mistress to begin asking questions about the goldsmith’s death.

7

Celia’s concerns about Margaret’s uneasy silence the previous evening had not fallen on deaf ears. Margaret had heard her, but she had not the strength to respond. Now she understood her mother’s lethargy after a vision, for she was experiencing just such a draining of strength. She wanted silence and darkness, and that is what she sought in the curtained bed.

But in all the hours of lying there she had not slept, seeing the kirk yard and the castle crowning the hill. When Ada came so late to bed, Margaret was awake and aware of every movement, as well as the scent of sex on her companion. Even that additional evidence that Ada might be so in love with Simon that he might succeed in persuading her to change sides stirred no emotion but a little jealousy. At last that turned her thoughts to James,
and as the early morning noise of the household comforted her with the sense of an ordinary day, she fell asleep wondering how he would be as a lover.

She woke with Celia shaking her and reminding her that she had wished to attend Mass. Margaret could smell fresh air in her maid’s clothing.

‘You’ve been outside?’

‘Yes,’ said Celia, averting her eyes. ‘We need to hurry.’

As Margaret swung her legs off the side of the high bed, Celia asked, ‘Are you certain you wish to go out? You do not look well.’

‘I did not sleep well, but I wish to attend Mass all the same.’

‘You went up so early in the evening. I should have checked to see if you needed something–’

Margaret had managed to straighten and reach for her gown. ‘Peace, Celia, just dress me now.’ While Celia helped her with her sleeves Margaret caught the scent of fresh air again. ‘You have been out for quite a while this morning.’

‘I accompanied the groom to Evota’s.’

‘Again?’ Margaret exclaimed. ‘Thrice now you’ve disobeyed me.’

‘I pray you, Mistress, speak softly, or you’ll wake Dame Ada,’ Celia said, glancing at their hostess’s still form, no part of her visible beneath the bedclothes. ‘I went to fetch the barrel of ale John purchased yesterday.’

‘Something happened,’ Margaret said more quietly. ‘I see it in your face. You were frightened.’

‘I followed Archie.’

When Celia told her of chasing the lad and then seeing the English soldier back at Evota’s, Margaret despaired at the risks she had taken.

‘Celia, what have you done?’ She held her breath for a moment as Ada stirred in the bed, but she did not waken. Still, only heavy drapes closed off the solar from the hall below. She did not want the household joining the argument.

‘I pray I caused no mischief,’ said Celia, ‘but I fear that I might have.’

Margaret did, too, but what was done could not now be undone with words of remorse. ‘Let us pray all the harder at Mass.’ She led the way to the steps down to the hall.

They walked out in silence, for which Margaret was grateful. She greedily breathed in the fresh air and tried to force the memory of the veil around Johanna from her thoughts. She’d yet to find any use in the Sight – it seemed only to stir her feelings and provoke frightened prayer. In the kirk the Kyrie was already being sung, and Margaret and Celia dropped to their knees near the back of the nave. God would hear their prayers here as well as closer to the altar.

After Mass they waited behind, nodding to people who greeted them, and when it grew quiet Margaret suggested that they go to the choir screen
to see whether Father Piers was still at the door. She hoped he might have discovered the identity of the English soldier or might give them some counsel about Celia’s encounter with him this morning.

The look of relief on Piers’s face when he saw them worried Margaret. Had he cause to think they might not appear, or had something happened to Johanna? He motioned for them to follow him down the aisle, then led them to the sacristy.

‘What is it? What has happened?’ Margaret asked.

‘Archie came last night,’ said Piers.

‘God be thanked,’ she said, though she wondered at the priest’s solemn expression – he should be relieved.

But Piers was shaking his head. ‘He says he can no longer carry messages because someone is watching him.’

‘Celia’s English soldier.’

‘He would not say, though I’m sure it was an Englishman.’

‘Do you think it might have something to do with Gordon Cowie’s murder?’

‘Would that I had an answer for you,’ Piers said.

‘If someone is watching him, they might also be watching Johanna.’

Piers was nodding. ‘We must be quiet for a few days, convince whoever it is that there is nothing to watch.’

‘We have no time to wait,’ said Margaret, exasperated by the man. ‘The armies are gathering, Father. What little information we have must get to James.’

‘Everything has changed, don’t you see that?’

‘We have some details that might be of use to Wallace and Murray. If you are saying that you won’t take it, I must.’ Though she would need his help in finding the contact down below.

Father Piers looked distraught. ‘If something should happen to you James Comyn would have my life, without hesitation. In faith, I would guess that Sir Simon is having you watched. I have told you that if necessary I shall go myself.’

‘Surely you’re watched as well,’ said Margaret.

‘There might yet be someone else–’ said the priest.

‘Who else might there be? All the men who can be trusted are gone, except for some servants.’

‘Among them there are possibilities. I must think.’

‘Don’t think too long,’ Margaret said, taking her leave.

Celia followed silently, but when they were back at the house she asked to speak to Margaret up in the solar.

‘What is it?’ Margaret asked, expecting a question about her behaviour. But Celia surprised her.

‘What you said to Father Piers, that made me
wonder how Archie has escaped service. Sandy the groom says that he is a man, not a boy, and has fathered many bastards off serving girls who think him harmless in that way, looking so young.’

‘Yet Father Piers calls him a lad.’
If only James were here
. ‘I am uneasy about Piers,’ said Margaret. ‘With a murder in the town we need James. Perhaps it’s time I donned men’s clothing and tried to leave as we came, quite out in the open.’

‘And what happens to Dame Ada when her niece has disappeared?’ asked Celia. ‘I’m the one to go, Mistress. No one would miss me. And I’m as small as Archie. I have his colouring, too. I could pass for him, name and all.’

‘I hardly think that is true, Celia.’ But Margaret was moved by the offer, and the love with which it was made. ‘I am ever in your debt. I know you offer this from your heart. But I am the one who accepted this mission, not you. I cannot risk your life for this. Yet you are right about my disappearing, I cannot do that to Ada.’ There seemed no responsible way to proceed. ‘I wish I knew whether I could really trust Father Piers.’

When Dame Ada had at last risen and gone below to break her fast, Celia took the opportunity to tidy Margaret’s trunk. It was a warm morning and the solar was hotter than the hall below, so Celia worked more slowly than usual. She regretted that when Ada caught her up there.

‘John tells me that you were out early this morning following a young man.’

Sandy must have told John. ‘John sent me to fetch the ale.’ How dare Sandy betray her?

‘You left Sandy to the task and chased after the young man. Is that not so?’

‘I did it for my mistress,’ Celia said with as much dignity as she could muster, her anger making her want to spit.

‘You call attention to yourself, running through the streets. You will have everyone watching us and with my friend Isabel’s loss – haven’t you heard of the goldsmith’s murder?’

‘Might we talk more quietly?’

Both women turned in surprise to discover Margaret had joined them. Celia was relieved to have her mistress put a steadying hand on her shoulder, which she interpreted as a sign of support. But Margaret’s expression was grim.

‘You heard about Gordon’s death, then?’ asked Margaret.

‘Yes,’ whispered Ada. As her composure crumbled she hid her face in her hands.

‘I am so sorry, Ada,’ Margaret said.

Ada lifted her face, her expression one of determined calm. ‘I should go to Isabel.’

‘I won’t keep you long,’ said Margaret. ‘I just wanted you to know that I have asked Celia to assist me. I am not happy that she openly pursued someone today, but we have little choice.’