The Fire in the Flint (24 page)

When Fergus had parted from Margaret and returned to the house he’d found Aylmer waiting for him. ‘Master Roger sent me to fetch you to the Kerr warehouse.’ His grim expression had chilled Fergus.

‘What’s amiss?’

‘You’ll see soon enough.’

Fergus was pulled from his recollection of the summons by Maggie’s voice asking what they’d found in the warehouse.

‘John Smyth,’ Fergus said.

Maggie frowned and shook her head. ‘Should I know that name?’

‘He was Da’s clerk. When Da fired him for thieving Smyth swore he’d avenge his honour.’ Fergus nodded at Maggie’s nod. ‘I see you remember now.’

She had gone pale. ‘Tell me what you saw, Fergus. Everything.’

Roger stepped between them. ‘Maggie, this is not your concern.’

She stepped around him. ‘Fergus.’

‘It looked as if he’d been climbing atop barrels stacked on their sides and they rolled out beneath him and over him. Heavy barrels. His neck was broken.’

Maggie crossed herself. ‘Holy Mary Mother of God.’

‘If Fergus had locked the door—’ Roger began.

‘Be quiet!’ Maggie shouted.

Fergus was much surprised. His sister was livid.

‘What is it?’ Roger said in a quieter, but nastier tone. ‘You can’t believe your brother is so irresponsible? That such an accident could happen when he was in charge?’

Fergus jumped in. ‘How am I to ensure that no accidents happen in the warehouses?’

‘By locking the doors,’ Roger shouted.

‘I did.’

Roger was nodding. ‘Perhaps you did. Where do you keep the keys?’

At that, Margaret withdrew to her chamber and flung herself on the bed, muttering prayers for her father’s soul. She believed Fergus, and she would have stayed to defend him but for the trembling that had begun when Fergus had reminded her of the dead man’s connection with their father.

‘Shall I fetch you some wine?’ Celia asked quietly.

Margaret rolled on to her side and contemplated the slight figure with the strong chin and level brows. ‘I’m so frightened, Celia,’ she said, feeling the need to tell someone her suspicions.

Celia perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Is it what they’re shouting about down below? The man with the broken neck?’

Margaret sat up. ‘He hated my da for calling him a thief. I fear … oh, dear Lord forgive him.’ She was unable to form the accusing words.

‘Even if he’s an unrepentant thief, the Lord will forgive him.’

‘I meant my father. I don’t believe Smyth was just thieving.’ Margaret breathed deeply. With enough breath she might get it out. ‘I think he was spying on my father, hoping to learn something in the warehouse.’

Celia sighed, smoothed the coverlet. ‘With all respect, you are not thinking clearly, Dame Margaret. It does not matter what he was intending, he’s dead. Struck down by his own trespass. So what can you possibly have to fear from him?’

‘My father is in Perth, Celia. Hiding. Ma has seen him.’

‘Oh.’ The small word, not a word at all really, expressed far more concern than Celia allowed in her expression.

‘I very much fear that he might also have been in Edinburgh, that he caught Old Will in the undercroft, or Will caught him.’

Celia sniffed. ‘Well, you’ve decided all this in a very short time, Mistress. You must need a glass of wine to refresh yourself after so much thinking.’ She rose and withdrew.

Margaret sank back down on to her stomach and tried to convince herself that Celia was right, that she was making too much out of a coincidence. But she could not quiet her mind.

And how would it come to pass that Master Malcolm was in Edinburgh the very night that Old Will searched his trunk?
Celia might have asked, but she’d kept her peace, thinking Margaret was already too interested. As she descended to the hall she happened on Jonet standing over the bundles brought upriver from Elcho. Jonet swung round as Celia cleared her throat.

‘Och, but you gave me a fright,’ said Jonet, pressing her chest. She was slightly younger than Celia, sturdily built. Her fluttery behaviour did not fit her appearance.

Celia explained what was in the bundles.

‘That will bring Dame Margaret some cheer. She’s been so sad in this house.’

‘Servants should not gossip about their employers,’ Celia snapped.

Jonet pressed her lips together. ‘I wish the mistress well, she knows that I do.’

‘I’ll help you with those in a little while,’ Celia said. ‘Where is Master Roger?’

‘He and his servant went off to the warehouse with Master Fergus,’ Jonet said, crossing herself.

So she probably knew about the body. Celia thanked her and hurried out towards the kitchen, distressed that in such a family as this a servant like Jonet might not have the sense to keep her own counsel. Celia had imagined Margaret had come from a comfortable family of a wealthy merchant. But the truth was not so lovely. Madwomen and murderers. She sighed to herself, pouring a cup of wine for Margaret.

‘I’ve no need of that,’ Margaret said, startling Celia so she almost dropped the cup. She had not noticed Margaret entering the kitchen. ‘I’m going to walk out into the fields. I need air.’

‘I’ll go with you then,’ Celia insisted, not liking the nervousness in her mistress’s carriage. She was
like a cat with its ears back, looking for an escape.

Margaret suddenly dropped on to a bench. ‘Where is Roger?’

‘He and your brother went to the warehouse.’

Margaret sighed and sat for a moment, head in hands. Just as Celia was handing her the cup, Margaret sprang up and stepped out into the yard.

Celia stood with cup in hand, watching Margaret’s restless gait, wondering whether she should follow. What must she be feeling, to return to this house with such hope only to have everything turn so ugly? As Celia pondered this she noticed a man emerging from the shadows by the stable.

She stepped outside. ‘Mistress, do you know that man?’ she hissed, pointing to him. As he approached he seemed familiar to her.

Margaret gave a little cry. The man hurried forward, shaking his head, a finger to his lips.

Of course, Celia thought, he reminded her of his brother Murdoch Kerr.

Margaret took him by the elbow. ‘Come away in, Da.’

Celia frowned at the affection in her mistress’s voice. She’d heard nothing of Malcolm Kerr to think he’d earned that.

13

Malcolm retreated from Margaret’s grasp. ‘It would be unwise for me to go within, Maggie.’

He looked well. As ever, his long nose, dark eyes, and bushy brows gave him the air of a predator. She noticed that as they’d aged, her father and his brother Murdoch had grown more alike in appearance, their red hair thinning and growing pale, their fair complexions spotted, their girths settling in their middles. But her father had neither her uncle’s rolling gait nor his scars. He had lived more comfortably and moderately. At the moment he was glancing nervously towards the street.

‘There are only the two servants and me,’ she said. ‘You’ll be safer within.’ News of the death in his warehouse would soon spread through the town, and whatever his reason for hiding had been, he might risk his life if he were seen now.

‘Two servants – that’s bad enough.’

‘Anyone passing along Watergate can see you here,’ she said. ‘Come within, into the kitchen.’

‘No. In there we cannot hear whether someone enters the house.’

‘Do you ken what happened to John Smyth?’ She tried to keep her tone even. Now that she was face to face with him she could not believe her father a murderer.

But Malcolm searched her eyes and saddened. ‘Even you, lass. How are those without our tie to believe in my innocence if you don’t?’

‘I did not accuse you. Come into the hall, do.’ She moved towards it, heard him following.

He stopped just inside the door that opened out towards the kitchen, where it was shielded from the hall by a tall wooden screen. ‘This is far enough.’

Margaret pulled out a bench and they sat straddling it, facing each other. He smelled of spices.

‘Why are you here, Da?’

Again he looked taken aback. ‘How can you ask that, Maggie? I worried when I arrived and heard of Roger’s abandonment.’

‘I mean back in the country.’

He shook his head in sympathy. ‘You are hardened by all your troubles, I understand.’ He paused, as if expecting her to protest, but shrugged when she did not shift her level look.
‘I am here because King Edward is in the Low Countries. It seemed an opportunity to retrieve more of my goods. I’d not heard that so many troops were biding here, and that Wallace and Murray had stirred up the people so. I’d not have come had I kenned the mood of the land.’

Margaret relaxed a little, believing he told the truth – as far as he cared to. ‘I did not see your ship on the river.’

‘No, and I’ll not tell you where it is.’

‘I was not about to ask.’

Her father grunted and drummed his fingers on the bench for a few moments, staring out at the yard. ‘Edward of England has arrived too late in Flanders. They’ve no need of him. His ambition outruns his wit. I did not wish to be there when he needed a dog to kick, eh, lass?’

Margaret did not feel obliged to offer sympathy. ‘Where are you biding, Da?’

‘Best you ken nothing of my activities.’

‘You sound like Uncle Murdoch and Roger. But Fergus and I have a right to know, having the care of your warehouse. He will surely be questioned.’

‘And neither of you will have aught to say.’

‘The English won’t believe that.’

‘They are not here at present,’ her father reminded her.

She would not be so easily dismissed. ‘Why was John Smyth in your warehouse?’

Pressing a hand to the back of his seamed neck,
her father tilted his head back and sighed. ‘That man has been my bane since … What was I thinking when I gave him work? Och, Maggie, the mistakes we make in the name of charity.’ He pressed his temples as if just thinking of John Smyth made his head ache. ‘What did Roger see in the warehouse? Can he tell what befell the thieving sneak?’

Margaret could not assess whether or not her father was faking innocence. ‘I’ve not been to the warehouse. Fergus is there now. You might learn more from him.’

Her father sighed with impatience. ‘I cannot risk being seen there, Maggie.’ He grew quiet.

‘Was it a difficult crossing?’ she asked, finding herself reluctant to part with him, though her feelings for him were a confusing mix of suspicion and love.

‘We had good weather, God be thanked, but we were twice boarded by the English.’

‘You did not lose your ship?’

‘No, no. They were satisfied that we were a merchant ship, nothing more.’

She guessed by his guarded expression that there was more to the tale than he wished to tell her.

‘You mentioned my brother,’ he said suddenly. ‘So it is true that you’ve been to Edinburgh seeking news of your husband, that you thought Roger had deserted you?’

‘You are well informed. He was away for a long while, and things being as they are, and having no word of him …’ She trailed off, tired of making excuses for Roger. ‘Yes, Da. I thought he had.’