‘Where’s Julia Coldale?’ she demanded.
‘Och, the maid with the red hair?’ he asked.
‘Ay.’
‘She said she had tae go back to the town again urgently and she didnae want to wait for ye, so I said she could go.’
‘By herself?’ sniffed Janet.
‘Er…no,’ admitted her husband. ‘Bangtail and Red Sandy went with her to see she was all right.’
‘They’re both married men.’
‘Ay, they’ll protect her right enough.’
‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes,’ said Carey suddenly.
‘Eh, sir?’ asked Dodd.
‘“Who will protect her from the protectors?”’ Carey translated, and Janet laughed.
‘Now there’s a piece of sense,’ she said. ‘Who said that?’
Carey thought for a moment. ‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted. ‘Some Roman or other.’
‘Well, it’s uncommon good sense for a foreigner,’ said Janet patronisingly. ‘Good afternoon to ye, sir.’
***
In later days, Mrs Leigh often thought about what she saw from the window that afternoon. She was sitting sewing a baby’s nightshirt with the little window open as far as it would go to let in some cool air. It also let in pungent smells from the various yards round about and flies, despite the bunches of wormwood hanging from the ceiling, and the sounds of children playing. Her own brood were out in the garden at the back, apart from the boys who were at school still; the two big girls were playing with hoops and the baby was sitting happily with one of the maidservants gurgling as it ate a dandelion. It was too hot and she was too heavy and tired to go out. The night before she had dreamt of swimming in a river as she had when she was a child, but then a fierce pike had come along and bitten her stomach and she had woken up to the ghost pains that often rippled her stomach now. Mrs Croser, the midwife and apothecary, had attended her at noon and said that the babe was head-down and in the right place and it was only a matter of waiting on God’s decision. At least she was happier than she had been the day before, despite the heat, and the men were no longer hammering the roof.
She saw Julia Coldale come along the street with two of the garrison men, one on each side, both of them as full of pride and preening as a couple of cock pheasants. The girl had a high colour and seemed to be enjoying herself. She left them outside as she went into the Leighs’ own draper’s shop.
And then she saw Janet Dodd and her husband, also coming along the street. Janet paused to talk to Alison Talyer who was shelling peas in her door while Dodd came on and disappeared under the scaffolding. She heard creaking and realised he was climbing the ladder, very cautiously, and she heard his voice drone as he spoke to the foreman.
Mrs Leigh put down her work, struggled herself off the window seat and went to the top of the stairs.
‘Jock!’ she yelled. ‘Jock Burn!’
‘Ay, mistress,’ came the answering shout. ‘I’ll be with ye in a minute.’
It was quite a bit after a minute that the skinny little man finally came up the stairs and stood lowering at her in his greasy jerkin and the incongruous new blue suit her husband had given him. Julia left at the same time and could be seen through the window chatting and laughing with the garrison men.
‘What did Julia Coldale want?’ she demanded.
He looked shiftily away from her. ‘Och,’ he said. ‘She was time-wastin’, only wantin’ to hear the price o’ this and that.’
‘Oh?’
He gave her the straight stare of the experienced liar.
‘Where’s the master, Mrs Leigh?’ he asked.
‘Over at the new warehouse. Why?’
‘Ay,’ said Jock, taking off his shop apron. ‘I need to speak wi’ him; will ye excuse me, mistress?’
She nodded, suddenly glad he could lie, and he turned and pattered down the stairs again. That perhaps was why she failed to notice that, when Dodd came creaking down the ladder again some time later, he was carrying a small bundle.
Wednesday 5th July 1592, late afternoon
Carey was deep in the tedium of paperwork again, his mind nibbling frustratedly at the problem of Jemmy Atkinson as he worked, when he had another visitor. After the first flash of fury, he saw it was the Bell headman who had called out his family against Wattie Graham the day before.
‘Mr Bell,’ he said courteously, wondering when he would be finished with his damned letters. ‘What can I do for you?’
Archibald Bell came stumping in through his chamber looking uncomfortably hot in a homespun green suit and a new high-crowned hat.
‘Ah’ve come about the blackrent,’ said Bell. ‘To pay it, I mean.’
For a moment, Carey didn’t understand.
‘Er…Lowther’s not here,’ he said cautiously.
‘Ay, I know that. I’ve come to pay it to ye, sir.’
Carey sat down again, wondering how to handle this. On the one hand he direly needed the money because his winnings from Lowther wouldn’t last forever and he was sure nobody in Carlisle would make the mistake of playing primero for high stakes with him again. On the other hand, blackrent was one of the cankers of the Border, as poor men paid protection money to crooks like Lowther and Richie Graham of Brackenhill to keep their herds and houses safe from reivers. Since no one could live paying rent to two landlords, most of them got their living by reiving and demanding blackrent of their own.
Archibald Bell had his purse in his hand, ready to do the business. He was looking puzzled.
Carey stood again, went and poured two goblets of the diabolical wine which Goodwife Biltock had sent up by Simon Barnet who was, as usual, not around.
‘Mr Bell,’ he said, handing one to the headman, who looked astonished. ‘How much blackrent was Sir Richard demanding?’
‘Thirty shillings a quarter,’ Bell answered promptly. ‘But I havena paid it for a while, so I brung what we owe which is six pounds.’
That was no less than extortionate.
‘I give you a toast,’ said Carey, while he struggled with temptation. ‘I give you, confusion to Richard Lowther and the Grahams.’
Bell lifted his goblet and drank the lot without noticeable strain.
‘Ye willna be wanting more, sir?’ he said anxiously. ‘For we canna pay it.’
‘No,’ said Carey. ‘I’m sure you can’t. In fact, I’m not sure I should accept it.’
‘Eh?’ Bell was flabbergasted.
‘Well,’ said Carey reasonably, ‘you give blackrent in return for protection from reivers, don’t you?’
‘Ay.’
‘To be frank with you, Mr Bell, I’m not sure how much more protection I can offer you. I haven’t Lowther’s contacts or his family backing. I’m only an officer of the Queen.’
‘Ye did well enough keeping my stock fra Wattie’s clutches yesterday.’
‘I have to admit it wasn’t my prime consideration.’
‘Nay, I ken that. I know well enough you was protecting Mr Aglionby’s packtrain.’
Something in the pit of Carey’s stomach gave a lurch of excitement. Now that made sense of a fifty man raid at hay-making. Carefully he drank more of the sloe-coloured vinegar in his good silver goblet.
‘Ah,’ he said wisely. ‘And how did you find that out?’
‘It was one o’ the reivers we caught yesterday. He was in such a taking, yelling and shouting about what he’d lost by ye and how he hated ye, and the packtrain the heaviest to go into Carlisle for years and so on. So then I knew why ye were there, which was puzzling me; it was for the packtrain, to keep it fra Wattie Graham,’ Bell explained.
Carey stared into space, his mind working furiously. He was remembering the cardgame at the Mayor’s house. Suddenly he knew who had killed Jemmy Atkinson.
‘I supposed you haven’t got the reiver any more?’
‘Nay, we ransomed all of them back, the minute Skinabake’s man turned up wi’ the money.’