‘It is. Maggie said one of the brethren was raised up in his shroud and going about doing miracles. Seems hard to credit in Glasgow.’
‘I wouldny put it that strong, sir. It’s the one who was mad. We certainly thought he was dead yesterday — Pierre said he could hear no heartbeat — and today he woke and is as clear-headed as any in the burgh.’
‘Well, well.’ His uncle removed his spectacles and polished the lenses on his sleeve. ‘Both risen and cured? How did he die?’
‘By hanging.’ Gil grimaced. ‘It was me that cut him down.’
‘Ah.’ Canon Cunningham closed his eyes and tipped his head back. ‘There was a man in Edinburgh, in ’79 I believe it was, hanged for stabbing his son’s schoolmaster afore witnesses, but breathed again afore he could be buried. And another at Perth, in James First’s time.’ He opened his eyes and looked at Gil.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Gil agreed.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Now what of the other matter? You said little enough at supper but I think there’s been another death?’
‘Aye, and John Veitch taken for it.’
Gil recounted the events in Vicars’ Alley. His uncle listened attentively but, somewhat to his disappointment, when he had finished only said, ‘Clear enough. You’ll present this at the quest, o course.’
‘Aye, and so much depends on the assize,’ said Gil.
‘Tommy Stewart’s no fool,’ said Canon Cunningham. ‘Now away up and deal wi your youngest sister.’
‘Deal wi her?’ repeated Gil. ‘Surely it’s for my mother to chastise her? I’d not wish to usurp that.’
Their eyes met. The Official’s long mouth quirked, but he nodded solemnly.
‘That’s a true word, but you’re the head of the family, Gilbert.’
‘Not you, sir?’
‘No me. She’s expressed a bonnie contrition, though I doubt whether her confessor would be convinced by it, and she’s had my forgiveness, but that’s all I’ll take to do wi the matter, Gilbert. Dorothea tells me you demanded money off James Douglas.’
‘It was the first thing I could think of,’ Gil confessed.
His uncle nodded. ‘A good notion, for all that. Dorothea says it made him think.’
‘It stopped him roaring.’
‘I’m glad I wasny present,’ said David Cunningham, then, while Gil was still taking in this admission, ‘Away and speak to your sister. She asked me to say she wished a word wi you.’
‘And I’ve a thing or two to ask her,’ Gil admitted, getting to his feet. Socrates, sprawled by the brazier again, raised his head to watch him, but went back to sleep when he showed no sign of leaving the house.
Tib was seated by a small brazier in the bedchamber where their mother would sleep when she arrived, reading in a prayer book by the light of two candles. When Gil came into the room she put the book aside gratefully.
‘I’m trying to be good,’ she said, ‘but it’s no easy. My uncle was saying I should seek confession, but how can you be contrite about something you don’t regret, Gil?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Gil, drawing up another stool. ‘Maybe recognizing you shouldny ha done it would be the first step.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said, and sighed. ‘I never thought it would be such a — ’
‘Such a what?’ he said after a moment.
‘I thought it was just atween Michael and me,’ she said, her face softening as she spoke her lover’s name. ‘It never came into my mind that the rest of the family would make such a tirravee about it.’
‘That was foolish.’
‘I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘It still doesny seem right to me. Here’s you and Kate both wed for love — why can I no follow my liking too? It’s no fair, Gil.’
‘Life isny fair.’ He studied her face in the candlelight. Despite her brave tone, it was clear she had been crying. ‘Tib, I’ll do what I can for you, but I’ll make no promises. Sir James is very angry, and he’ll have to be talked round first afore anything else. As to what Mother will say when she gets here — and you’ll have to make your peace wi Kate as well.’
She nodded, shivering.
‘But no wi Alys,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you, Gil, I never took much to Alys till now. She’s been as kind to me the day — sitting up here letting me talk, when she’d all to do at her own house.’ She smiled briefly at Gil in a way that reminded him of Alys’s elusive expression, and went on diffidently, ‘And there was something she said that made me think a bit, Gil.’
‘What was that?’ he prompted when she paused.
‘Well. She’s got no mother, and no sisters, only that Catherine who’s more like a nun than our Dorothea is. She’s got no one to — ’
‘To what?’
‘Well, I asked Margaret years ago what it was like to lie with your husband,’ she said in a rush, ‘and she and Kate both had Mother’s wee lecture, which maybe I’ll be spared now, and I’d wager Dawtie kens at least as much as I did afore I went to Michael’s bed, but — but Alys — she doesny ken what to expect — ’
‘Are you saying she’s afraid?’ Gil demanded, enlightenment reaching him. Tib nodded. ‘Of me?’
‘No, not of you, of your — of bedding wi you.’
He was silent, staring at her. It would explain it, he thought, it would explain so much. The way she shied away from kissing, her reluctance to say what Dorothea had meant …
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Tib, my thanks for this. I should ha seen it for myself.’
‘You’re too close to see it,’ she said.
‘You’ll be as fearsome as Mother when you’re older,’ he said.
‘Spare me! I’d sooner be like our grandam.’
He sat staring at the brazier for a little longer, fitting the things which had worried him into this idea. It made sense. It might take longer to work out what he lacked himself, but that could be dealt with at another time. Just now he had a case to make out for John Veitch. He remembered the questions he had for his sister.
‘We found a handcart,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s here in our washhouse the now. If you get a look at it in the daylight, could you tell me if you mind it?’
‘I might mind it better by lamplight,’ she said reasonably. ‘Where was it?’
‘St Andrew’s chapel in Vicars’ Alley. It’s the one they use for gathering alms for the lepers. It was already at the gate to the bedehouse when you got there?’
‘It was. And someone moving about on the green, too.’
He thought a moment further, fishing for a distant memory.
‘Tib, did you say you’d seen John Veitch? When was that?’
‘Aye, I did. He was coming down from the Wyndhead when Andy Paterson and I came up the High Street. He’d a lantern, but I got a good look at him as well by someone’s torch on the end of the house-wall. I kent him well enough.’
‘What time would that be?’
She shrugged. ‘About nine o’ the clock or a bit after, maybe?’
‘And he was going down the hill,’ said Gil slowly, ‘and then when you got on to the Stablegreen, after you’d got rid of Andy,’ Tib gave him a contrite smile, ‘the handcart was there and there was someone in the trees. So John Veitch didny put the Deacon’s body over the wall.’
‘I never thought he did.’
‘But this makes it certain.’
‘I suppose it does,’ agreed Tib, sounding surprised. ‘Is that important?’
‘It is.’ Gil got to his feet. ‘Thanks for that, Tib. And for the other.’ He bent to kiss her, and she returned the salute.
‘Have I been a help?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He paused. ‘How did you get rid of Andy, anyway? Did Maggie not hear you in the yard?’
‘She was out,’ said Tib, ‘at some of her friends’, which was a bit of luck, and Matt was no to be seen either. There was only daft William in the kitchen. I never had to explain myself to anyone. Then I walked in in the morning as if Andy had just left me there.’
‘Maggie was out,’ repeated Gil. ‘Tib, you are a great help. And if you’ll look at that handcart the morn’s morn that’ll be a help too.’