The Fourth Crow (32 page)

‘I heard it was well chewed through at Chapter this morning,’ said Otterburn obliquely. ‘No to mention this special session, this afternoon.’ You’re well informed, thought Gil without surprise. ‘Now what’s this about down the shore? What’s Stockfish Tam up to now?’

Stepping in at the kitchen door of Canon Cunningham’s house stone house on Rottenrow, Gil found his uncle’s housekeeper Maggie Baxter inspecting a vast sausage which she had just hauled dripping from its cauldron of broth. Several other members of the household stood about the kitchen table admiring the object on its platter and savouring its rich aroma. Shining pools of fat gathered about it, reflecting the firelight.

‘Aye, it’s done,’ pronounced Maggie. ‘Away up the stair and set the table. Is that you, Maister Gil? Set another place, Matt.’

Canon Cunningham’s taciturn body-servant raised a hand in acknowledgement as he turned towards the stair. Gil made for Maggie and kissed her broad red cheek in greeting.

‘Away wi you,’ she said, elbowing him off. ‘How are you, Maister Gil? How’s Mistress Alys? Away wi you and all,’ she added to Socrates. ‘Here, William, cut me a crust for the big dog, there’s a good laddie.’

‘She’s well.’ Gil watched as the kitchen boy obeyed, and signalled to his dog to accept the offered hunk of bread. ‘That’s a magnificent pudding, Maggie, but will it go round one more? I could do wi a word wi the old man.’

‘Aye, there’s plenty kale to sup wi it. What, is it about this business at St Catherine’s? I should think so. He’s right put out you haveny been round afore now asking his advice.’

This proved to be true. Once Grace had been said and the pudding cut into rich, spicy portions, the whole matter of the three deaths and Annie Gibb’s disappearance had to be gone over, in minute detail, before Canon Cunningham was mollified. Conversation down the table was stilled while the whole household, Maggie, Matt and the other servants, listened avidly to Gil’s account.

‘A very bad business,’ said the Canon when it was ended. He set his spoon neatly in his bowl. ‘Indeed, it amounts to a series of attacks on Holy Kirk itsel. Chapter was extremely difficult this morning, even without taking the matter of the sacrilege at St Catherine’s.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Gil. His uncle shot him a sharp look, but went on,

‘But are all these separate? We have,’ he enumerated on long fingers, ‘theft from the Almoner’s stores, apparently by one of St Mungo’s own servants, and the death of the same servant somewhere about the Cathedral lands. We have the loosing of a supplicant to St Mungo, a very dangerous matter, and her replacement by a dead whore. Whatever the Dean thinks of that form of supplication,’ he added, in a tone which gave some insight into the way in which Chapter had been difficult, ‘these are both serious offences. And finally, and worst of all, we have a woman, whom we can assume to have been defenceless, done to death by violence in a consecrated place. These are all crimes against Holy Kirk, but are they separate crimes, or all part of one campaign?’

The conversation further down the board had turned to an argument about whether the procedure required at St Catherine’s was exorcism or not, and Gil realised that his uncle had switched to Latin.

‘I don’t know, sir,’ he answered, in the same language. ‘I had assumed they are separate, because I see no way in which they are all connected, other than in time. That is, they have all happened in the past—’ He stopped in amazement. ‘The past two days. They may be connected, but I don’t see how.’

His uncle considered the empty platter before him for a time, then said,

‘The man Barnabas was presumably killed by his accomplice.’

‘My thought too.’

‘But who was that?’

‘I suspect it was one of the songmen, but I have no way of knowing which. They all live beyond their means, and all those I have spoken to were indignant about the theft from their stores as well as from the Almoner’s. I don’t even know for certain where the man was killed.’

Canon Cunningham nodded, his lean face below the black felt coif still intent on the congealed fat on the platter.

‘And the St Mungo’s Cross matter,’ he said. ‘How are Steenie Muir’s young kinsmen involved? Poor fellow, he is much distressed by the events at St Catherine’s, feeling he is in some way responsible for the death of the woman.’ His tone spoke volumes about the idea. ‘I remember his cousin Dandy, the father of these boys, who was a wild fellow in his youth. I believe Steenie had hopes that one of them might wed the missing woman.’

‘That appears to be so,’ Gil agreed. ‘Will Craigie the song-man has been promoting the match. I believe there is some agreement to mutual profit if it goes ahead.’

‘I can well believe it,’ said his uncle. ‘I have observed that William is perennially short of funds, and for good cause.’

Gil waited a moment, but when the Canon said no more he went on, ‘I do not think the brothers abducted Annie themselves, though I suppose they could have ordered it done. Canon Muir tells me he saw them to bed in person, after spending the evening talking with them.’

His uncle surveyed him with an eye as grey as St Columba’s.

‘Steenie Muir,’ he said with care, ‘fell asleep in Chapter this morning, in the midst of the discussion of the matter. The Dean was explaining to us how we felt about the custom when he began snoring. If he can sleep through the Dean explaining something on which he feels strongly, he can sleep through two young men leaving the house to go drinking.’

‘Oh,’ said Gil, and felt the case shift round him like ice on a half-thawed pond. ‘Oh!’

‘Precisely,’ said Canon Cunningham. He glanced at the windows. ‘Here, is that the time?’ he said in Scots. ‘I’ll be late for Chapter. You ken Robert Blacader’s to be there?’

‘His first outriders were arriving as I left the Castle,’ Gil began, and was interrupted by a furious knocking at the house door.

‘Maister Cunningham!’ a voice was shouting. ‘Are you there, Maister Cunningham? That lassie’s turned up! The stinking lassie’s come home!’

‘We sent straight to the Provost from here,’ said Alys. She tucked one hand into Gil’s, and stroked Socrates’ head with the other. ‘He must have sent his man out direct to find you. I wish you had seen them,’ she admitted, watching the Shaw household reunited on the other side of the hostel dining hall. ‘You’d be in no doubt but they were pleased to see her. Look at them now.’

Gil nodded. It had begun to rain again, heavy drops rattling on the shutters and the horn upper panes of the hall windows, but the mood inside was sunny. Even Lockhart was smiling, and looked as if a part of his burden had been lifted. His sisters-in-law were still almost hysterical with relief and delight, and Annie Gibb herself, in her ill-fitting borrowed garments, clearly felt this was a homecoming. The woman Meggot was mopping at her eyes with the tail of her linen headdress, the serving men were grinning, and Sir Simon, summoned from his darker considerations, was reciting a
Te Deum
before the crucifix. Well, he could hardly go into the chapel to give thanks, Gil thought grimly, and was startled to recognise their own maidservant Jennet at Meggot’s elbow, part of the rejoicing.

‘Has the doctor been told?’ he asked. ‘Can he leave his patient?’

‘Not yet,’ Alys said. ‘That is, he knows, and he came to the door of the men’s hall and spoke, but he is waiting until Sir Edward sleeps a little before he comes away. I think they are very much in love,’ she added.

‘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.’