‘Almost the last action of Stirling’s we know of,’ Gil pursued, ‘was to speak to Andrew Drummond, Canon of Dunblane, who was lodged here at the time. I’ll have to go back to Dunblane and speak to the Canon, but in the meantime I hoped, if you can tell me anything about his movements that day, it might shed some light on what Stirling did next.’
‘Ah.’ Gilchrist studied Gil for a moment, then nodded. ‘I’ll fetch the record book. Take a seat, sir. I’ll no be long.’
In fact he was nearly a quarter of an hour, slipping back into the chamber with a big leather-bound volume clasped against his white scapular.
‘Forgive me, maister,’ he said, drawing another stool up to the small table by the window. ‘I’d to deal wi another matter. The laundry seems to have lost three of the good linen sheets. Now, when was Canon Drummond here? About two week since, am I right?’ He leafed backward through the book. Its pages were filled with columns of neat tiny writing and figures, a total at the foot of each in red ink. ‘Aye, here we are. Andrew Drummond from Dunblane, stayed three nights with four, no, five men, and what’s this? Oh, I mind. He’d a woman wi his company, which was awkward as the women’s guest-hall was empty at the time. It’s unusual, but it happens.’
‘A woman?’ said Gil blankly. ‘Oh — he was bringing his bairns to their grandmother. Maybe he brought one of the maidservants along to see to them on the journey.’
‘I’d say she was more than a serving-lass,’ demurred Gilchrist. ‘She was maybe his — some woman’s companion. I set eyes on her myself, Mistress Ross she was cried, a decent enough woman past forty I’d say, but we’d to put her in a lodging out-by, and Maister Canon insisted we send her food out to her. So hardly a maidservant.’
‘That must have been inconvenient. Was she far away?’
‘No, no, just at Duncan Niven’s house by the dyer’s yard. He’s kin to one of our lay brothers, we’ve lodged other folk there afore now, though we don’t usually carry their food. The kitchen-folk swears we never got all the dishes back.’
‘Irritating,’ said Gil. ‘So what have you recorded here?’
‘It’s a note of all the dole offered,’ Gilchrist turned the book so that Gil could see the pages, ‘the provisions made use of, who ate what and where it was served up. Here’s Canon Drummond, see, two messes of food, one manchet loaf and two of maslin, ale and clean water, brought here to the guest hall from the kitchens, and the woman’s portion carried forth on a platter from here.’
‘You’re meticulous.’ Gil studied the orderly columns. ‘You even record the amount of the broken meats?’
‘We’re the stewards of what’s given over to us for charity,’ Gilchrist pointed out. ‘It’s no more than our duty to make certain it’s used well. The broken meats goes for feeding the poor at the gates the next day, and since the poor never get any less in number, Brother Almoner needs to have an idea how much broth he’ll need to make up the amount.’
Gil nodded, a finger on the date he wanted.
‘Did Drummond’s company leave in ones and twos?’
‘No that I recall,’ said Gilchrist, staring. ‘Why d’you ask?’
‘They’ve eaten well, though not inordinately.’ Gil paused, calculating. ‘Two messes of food served to six people, there would be enough left most days to feed another two mouths at least. Yes, here on the twenty-fourth you’ve noted exactly that. But on the twenty-fifth, you served up one mess of food only, and there was still some left over.’
‘I see what you’re saying,’ said Gilchrist, tilting his head. ‘Salmon in wine with onions and mustard, and they’ve barely picked at it.’ He lifted the corner of the page and peered at the verso. ‘Ah — here we are. Drummond left the next day. I recall that one of his men went ahead to order up the fresh horses and that, so he’d have been away before supper on the twenty-fifth.’
‘That’s only one down.’
‘Aye, but Canon Drummond ate his supper at the Bishop’s table that day.’
It was Gil’s turn to stare.
‘Did he so? The Bishop never told me that.’
‘Well, so Drummond’s man told my sub-Cellarer,’ qualified Gilchrist. ‘I know he came back late, for he’d to make quite a noise to waken Brother Porter and we all heard him as we came from Compline.’
‘Was he alone? When did he go out?’
The Cellarer shook his head.
‘Sometime after Nones. It would have been when we were all at our studies, I suppose. Brother Porter might remember — or James my Sub-Cellarer. Certainly he was on his own when he returned, for his man had to be woken to see him to bed.’
Gil looked at the columns of neat writing. If Drummond had eaten with Bishop Brown, it altered matters a lot, but if he had, why had he not taken his man with him? If he had not, then why had he said he was doing so? Was it the delusion of a man in the grip of melancholy? No, surely, his servant had said it was after they returned to Dunblane, after the second letter came from Balquhidder, that the melancholy settled on him. But could it have been starting already?
‘How was Canon Drummond in himself?’ he asked. ‘Did you have any words with him while he was here?’ Gilchrist raised his eyebrows. ‘The man had just lost his mistress,’ Gil expanded. ‘I wondered how he seemed to be taking it.’
‘So his servants told us,’ agreed the Cellarer. ‘I wondered at it, a bittie, for you’d never have thought it from his demeanour. Serious, yes, as befits a clerk, but not inordinately so, and not — not irrational, I’d have said.’
‘He did not,’ said Wat Currie. ‘We’d ha tellt you if he had done, Maister Cunningham. My lord’s reputation’s well known — he would never invite a churchman to his table who’d openly kept a mistress, particularly when it was a Perth lassie. Different if he’d already set her aside, or if we’d had to deal wi him on Holy Kirk’s business, a course.’
‘Yes, I see that,’ said Gil. ‘I wonder where he went? The Blackfriars’ sub-Cellarer said he went out about five of the clock, and his servant came back later saying the Canon would dine with Bishop Brown. He returned after Compline. Where has he been? And unattended at that.’ He glanced at the steward. ‘That reminds me, Peter thought Maister Stirling was unattended the day he vanished away. Is that right?’
‘Well, there’s none under this roof admitted to being wi him,’ said Wat. ‘More to the point, we’ve not found where he went. No sign of him on the Ditchlands by the Black-friars, no sign in the Ditch, and the households opposite saw nothing.’
‘He was seen,’ said Gil, suddenly recalling Mistress Doig’s statement. ‘In the last of the sunlight, making for the Red Brig as if he was coming back into Perth.’
‘Was he, now?’ said Wat, frowning. ‘After nine that would be. He’d a been gey late for his supper by then.’ He smacked a fist into the other palm. ‘Where has he got to? St Peter’s bones, how can a man just disappear like that, unattended or no?’
Easier than you’d believe, thought Gil. Aloud he said, ‘Did he go drinking? Did he have friends in the town? Maybe the alehouses along the Skinnergate could tell us something. And where do you suppose Canon Drummond ate his dinner, if it wasn’t here?’
‘No a notion.’ Wat pulled at his lower lip, scowling. ‘I’d say it wasny on the Skinnergate, for the Blackfriars likes to drink there when they’re in the town, they’re aye in one alehouse or another.’ He thought a little further. ‘If he went to a friend, we’ve little chance of finding out, but I suppose he could ha been wi a woman. Why d’you want to know?’
‘He’s still the last person we know of that spoke to James Stirling,’ Gil said. ‘If I know where he was, I might find where Stirling was.’
‘Aye.’ Wat reached for his tablets. ‘I’ll send the men out again after they’ve had their noon bite. They can ask at the taverns, and maybe at the various kirks in the place, supposing he was wi a colleague after all. And maybe we could get the crier to it and all. For the both of them. He’s already crying those two badges off Jaikie’s hat, and Rob Chaplain and I’ve been turning away folk wi lead St Jameses all morning.’