‘I ought to go to Rottenrow,’ he said now, in answer to Tam’s question. ‘They need to know about Rob.’
‘But the lassie needs to ken what’s come to her da,’ the man said. ‘I’ll take the mule on to our house, maister, and break it to them there. Will I take your beast and all? And the dog?’
‘The dog will stay wi me.’ Gil looked down at the animal, wedged snoring across his saddlebow. ‘Tam, I’m grateful. Ask Maggie not to bar the door yet.’
At the mason’s house there was candlelight in the hall windows. Crossing the shadowy courtyard, Gil wondered where Alys would be waiting. On the settle by the empty fireplace, with a stand of candles and a book? Upstairs, in her father’s panelled, comfortable closet, with a book or her lute or the monocords, practising some of the keyboard music which arrived occasionally from France? He whistled to Socrates, and rattled at the front door latch.
‘Oh, Maister Gil,’ said Kittock, opening the door to him. ‘The mistress is no here.’
‘No here?’ he repeated.
‘Madam Catherine’s in the hall,’ she said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘Come you in and get a word wi her. Is the maister no wi you, sir?’
In the hall, on the settle by the empty hearth, Alys’s aged aristocratic nurse Catherine was seated under a branch of candles, staring at the wall-hangings while her fingers moved automatically with thread and hook. The long strip of lacy stuff twitched across her black skirts as she worked. As Gil stepped into the hall she looked round and set down her work.
‘Bon soir, maistre,’ she said. ‘Welcome home. Is our master not with you?’
‘I left him in Roslin.’ At her invitation Gil sat down opposite her.
‘Where? I trust he is well.’ She paused to acknowledge Socrates, who had padded forward to nudge her hand with his long nose.
‘He has taken some hurt. I left him well looked after,’ he assured her. Inevitably this was not enough; he had to detail the mason’s injuries and treatment while she listened with a critical frown. Finally he managed to say, ‘Where is Alys, madame? She should be told.’
‘I regret,’ said Catherine disapprovingly in her beautifully enunciated French, ‘the demoiselle has not been home today. She spent yesterday with your sister, monsieur. Then she went out early this morning and she is not returned. She sent word a little time ago that she would remain the night with your sister.’
‘You mean she’s in the Upper Town, madame?’ said Gil in some chagrin.
‘But no,’ replied Catherine, her toothless mouth primming up again. ‘The demoiselle and your sister are both at Morison’s Yard.’
‘Whatever are they doing there?’ he demanded. ‘Did Alys say why she would not be home?’
‘I sent one of the girls for her more than an hour ago,’ said Catherine in mounting indignation, ‘and that was all the word she brought back. What her father would say if he heard of it — though perhaps,’ she added, as if she had just thought of it, ‘they are still trying to restore matters after the burglary.’
‘Burglary?’ Gil stared at her. ‘Where? What burglary? What are you telling me, madame?’
‘A thief broke into Maister Morison’s house last night. He took nothing,’ she assured him, ‘and he was captured. By your sister, I understand, sir.’
‘Kate?’ said Gil in amazement. ‘Sweet St Giles, how did she manage that?’
‘I have not heard,’ said Catherine resentfully.
‘I must go and see what is happening.’ Gil looked at the dog, who had flopped on to his side and was already snoring faintly. ‘I’ll leave Socrates with you, if I may — he’s had a hard day, poor beast.’
The sky to the north was still light, but the first stars were pricking above the Tolbooth as he walked the short distance down the High Street. The leaves of Morison’s great yett were shut, but one of them yielded to pressure, and he stepped cautiously into the yard. Barn and sheds were dark shapes in the twilight, the racks of Morison’s wares were gathering pockets of shadow, and an occasional reflection gleamed on the rim or flank of a glazed pot; but even by this light it seemed to Gil there was less clutter underfoot.
The house door stood open, light spilling on to the steps. The hall was lit, but so also was the kitchen at the end of the range, and beyond it from the door of one of the outhouses came lamplight, voices and steam, a crashing of wooden buckets, and splashing water. Laundry? he thought. At this hour of night?
‘Hello,’ he called. ‘Is anyone home? Alys? Kate?’
‘Gil!’ It was his sister’s voice. Her crutches scraped and thumped, and she appeared at the house door, outlined against the light. ‘Gil, Our Lady be praised you’re back. Are you safe?’
‘Quite safe,’ he said, startled. ‘Is all well here? What’s this Catherine tells me? Where’s Alys, anyway,’ he demanded, getting to the nub of the matter.
‘She’s busy,’ said Kate. ‘She’ll be out in a little while. We never thought it would take so long. Come in, Gil. We have — we have something to tell you.’
‘What is it?’ he asked, alarm gripping his throat. ‘Is Alys — ’
‘Alys is fine,’ Kate assured him. ‘Come into the house, till I tell you what’s been going on here.’
‘You are getting more and more like Mother,’ he said, setting foot on the house stair. ‘Where is Alys? Catherine’s anxious, and — and Pierre has been hurt. I need to tell her.’
‘Her father hurt? Oh, Gil. And she feels guilty about what happened,’ said Kate, turning in the doorway so that he could enter the house, ‘but the fault was mine, really it was. You won’t be angry at her, will you?’
‘Kate, what is this about?’ he asked. ‘How do I know whether I’ll be angry till you tell me what you’re on about? Why would I be angry with Alys anyway?’
‘The inbreak,’ said Kate. ‘Not last night, but the night before. Thursday. We had an inbreak. A thief in the house.’
‘Catherine told me.’
‘Did she tell you there were two?’
‘What, two inbreaks?’ He stared at her. She turned again on her crutches to look at him, and nodded. Then, along the length of the house, from the vapour-bathed doorway beyond the kitchen, the screaming started.
Gil leapt from the fore-stair and set off running. As he was drawing his sword it dawned on him that it was not an adult screaming. It was a child, terrified.
Kate’s voice followed him: ‘Gil! Gil, come back, it’s all right!’
He kept running.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Gil, without a great deal of hope. ‘You had two intruders in the place on Thursday night, you caught the first one opening Augie’s plate-kist, the second one chopped the first one into pieces, and you feel you owe me an apology.’
‘Not really,’ said his sister drily, ‘but I thought you might expect one.’
Alys said nothing. Gil gave her an anxious glance. He could not work out whether she was embarrassed, angry, offended or frightened for her father, and his head was still reeling with the sight which had met him earlier.
Reaching the door of the — bathhouse, laundryhouse, whatever it was, he had halted, staring, whinger in hand, unable to see the source of the screams. Amid clouds of lantern-lit vapour and a smell of soap, what seemed like a great number of women appeared and disappeared, sleeves rolled up, muscular forearms wet, around a tent of suspended linen, from which came splashing. Then, as the steam dissipated at one side of the chamber, he recognized Alys standing in a pool of water, her hair knotted up on top of her head, bending over a screaming, dripping child. A second child spoke, happily, inside the tent of linen.
‘Maister Gil!’ said someone out of the clouds. Alys straightened up with an exclamation, and he realized she was wearing only a very wet shift, in which she might as well have been naked. And she was standing next to a lantern.