‘Aye, that’s the name,’ agreed the Bishop, still petting the dog. ‘There, now, Jerome, my wee mannie, that’s enough. Right bonnie dogs she has, sound and well-natured, so when my poor Polycarp dee’d last Februar, we negotiated for one of her first litter of spaniels, and got the wee fellow as soon as he was old enough, didn’t we no, Jerome?’ The pup yipped at him and scrambled up his breast to lick his face. Gil, recalling Socrates as a youngster, somehow doubted that this creature would have the chance to develop his good manners. ‘Well, Maister Cunningham, if that’s all I can tell you for now, I need to get on wi these papers. Away you wi Wat and he’ll let you ha the details you’re wanting.’
‘Might I ask about another thing first?’ Gil looked from one man to the other. ‘It’s another Kirk matter, though not Dunkeld’s.’
‘Ask away,’ said Brown.
‘Canon Drummond of Dunblane was here in Perth two weeks since, I’m told.’
‘Drummond,’ repeated the Bishop. ‘Oh, aye, Andrew Drummond. That’s a sad business,’ he went on, crossing himself. ‘It’s a sound lesson, Maister Cunningham, in why a clerk should have naught to do wi women. The vows apart, they’re no more than a distraction to a churchman, whether they live or whether they dee.’
Gil, familiar with this attitude, smiled politely.
‘Did he lodge here?’ he asked. Brown looked at his steward, who shook his head.
‘No, never here,’ he said firmly. ‘I’d mind o that, and so would you, my lord, for he’d be entitled to eat at your own table, and you’d never permit it. Two week syne we had,’ he paused, staring at the wall above Gil’s head for a moment, then counted off on his fingers, ‘Maister Myln that’s Rural Dean northward, two fellows from Whithorn travelling to Brechin, a party of Erschemen from Lorne — ’
‘Ask at the friars, maister,’ suggested Brown. ‘He could ha lodged wi any of them, save maybe the Whitefriars, for the house there’s no fit for guests the now.’ He reached round the pup to shuffle at the papers on his desk. ‘Jaikie was to ha dealt wi getting their roof seen to, just that week. Here’s the docket,’ he said, holding it out of Jerome’s reach. ‘Aye, aye, I’ll need to get Rob Gregor to deal wi’t now, and it’ll never be done.’
‘I’ve a notion Maister Stirling never has took the rent-roll wi him,’ said Wat Currie. He nodded dismissal to Noll again and poured ale for both of them, handing Gil his beaker. He was a well-upholstered man some ten years older than Gil, with a round satisfied face and a comfortable manner. Fairish hair hung round his ears below a handsome velvet bonnet, and his long gown of grey-blue worsted was turned back with murrey-coloured taffeta, a superior form of the murrey-and-plunkett livery the servants wore. ‘He just made a list in his tablets. He’d not want to take the roll out into the town.’
‘I can see that,’ agreed Gil, unrolling it cautiously. It was a fragile object, its inner layers clearly of great age, successive strips of parchment glued on the end as the earlier portions filled up. ‘Why not simply start a new one?’
Currie shrugged, and pointed to the end nearest him. ‘Anyways, there’s all your names, and I can gie you the directions to find them.’
‘You’re sure these are all of them?’ Gil counted the entries current in the neat columns. ‘Five, six, eight properties.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Just I was thinking that if you lost the trail, maybe he had another place to call.’
‘We’ve searched the burgh,’ said Currie flatly, and buried his face in his beaker.
‘Fair enough.’ Gil began copying down the names. ‘Tell me about Maister Stirling. My lord has a good opinion of him, that’s clear. Is he liked by the rest of the household?’
Currie shrugged again. ‘Well enough, I’d say. He’s never been one for idle giff-gaff, you ken, never talks about his own business or what he’s doing.’ So I’d expect of a confidential secretary, thought Gil. ‘He’s a bit sharp wi his tongue, just the same. The kind of remark that makes folk laugh, all except the one it’s aimed at.’
‘Does he make enemies that way?’
‘Not so you’d notice. He’s as like to strike at one as another, a bit like a fool, there’d be little point in taking offence.’
‘Where does he sleep when he’s here in Perth? Does he have his own bed?’
‘Aye, him and Rob Gregor that’s my lord’s chaplain has the chamber just off my lord’s own.’
‘Do they get on, the two of them?’
‘Well enough.’ Currie smiled. ‘I’d defy anyone no to get on wi Rob, the gentle soul he is. Hardly close, but they managed fine.’
‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’
‘None. We wondered if he’d maybe been called home,’ said Currie reluctantly, ‘but we sent to where his family dwells, that’s nigh to Dunblane you ken, and to Dunkeld and all, and no word. And he’s no private business that any of us knows on, to draw him away so sudden.’
‘Is his gear still here?’
‘It’s all packed up and lying yonder,’ said the steward, nodding at a small carved kist set under the window of his tidy chamber. ‘Rob was worried,’ he expanded, ‘after two-three days and he wasny back, about light-fingered laddies, so he stowed it all and brought it to me for safe keeping. I’d vouch for all my household, maister, but a man can aye be mistook in that, and there’s no knowing how some will react if they’re tempted.’
‘Very wise,’ agreed Gil. ‘Stirling has no servant of his own, then?’
‘No, no, managed for himself mostly. He’d ask me for one of the men to carry out the odd task for him. Rob’s the same.’
‘Did you take an inventory of his goods? Could I see it?’
‘It’s in the kist, so Rob said.’ Currie set down his beaker and moved to unstrap the lid of the little box. The piece of paper on top of the contents had a list on it in careful writing, but Gil had no need to study it to recognize that James Stirling had left behind a very different category of possessions from those abandoned by John Rattray in Dunblane, or by the two songmen here in Perth whose house had also been stripped of all small items. Just under the paper was a sturdy leather case whose shape was familiar to any grown man.
‘His razors,’ he said.
‘Never say so!’ said Currie, lifting the case and opening it. ‘Our Lady protect him, you’re right, maister. They’re all in here. Two good razors and the strop, his wee knife to his nails, his box of soap and all.’ He looked at Gil, concern slowly deepening in his face. ‘Christ aid us, he’s no left willingly at all, has he, maister?’
‘No,’ said Gil rather grimly. ‘I’d say he hadn’t. And I’m surprised the chaplain never thought of it when he packed the gear.’
‘Och, no, that’s Rob for you,’ said Currie. ‘He’s some age, maister, he’s nearsighted, and he’s aye more in the next world than this one.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish I’d gied him a hand to pack up, as he asked, but I was sore taigled that day.’
He set the shaving-gear in the upturned lid of the box, turned to the table again, and drew the rent-roll towards him, peering at the entries on the free end and blinking hard.
‘I had two of the stable-hands ask at all these properties,’ he said. ‘They all said, Aye he’d been there, and gone on. One of the lads helps me often at the hunt, and had the sense to ask about which way the fellow went each time as he left. He didny get a sensible answer from all, a course, but he worked it out that our man went to,’ he leaned closer to the parchment, ‘first these three, and then this one, and these two. And then these two in the Skinnergate, though he couldny work out which was the last. And then, he said, they asked about, and found none to say they’d seen him after the Skinnergate, and when I sent another fellow round all the ports none had seen him.’
‘Skinnergate,’ said Gil thoughtfully. He had the chap-lain’s inventory in his hand. Razirs, rol of papirs, crosbo, sanct Jac’s, it read. ‘I’d like a look at this Rol of papirs, if we can find it, Maister Currie. Papers can aye tell something, if they’re worth keeping.’