The Fire in the Flint (37 page)

‘Come within,’ said Margaret, leading the way to her chamber.

Once inside, Margaret locked the door and with Celia’s help slid a clothing trunk in front of it. Then she knelt to the casket in which Roger had stored some rope.

‘It won’t reach all the way down to the kitchen garden,’ said Margaret, ‘but I’ve worked the ground so it’s quite soft.’

‘Why are we sneaking out of the house?’

‘I thought we might find Jonet at Da’s house,’ said Margaret, ‘searching for the sterlings. No one has taken care not to mention them in her hearing.’

Celia helped Margaret tie the rope to the sturdy bedstead.

*

James sat in a corner of St John’s Kirk hoping to see Margaret. He’d had misgivings about sending Fergus on with only Malcolm, a man of quicksilver moods and loyalties. Neither was he confident that either of them could be trusted not to mention James’s part in the rescue. But over and above those good reasons to seek reassurance from Margaret, he had news of her brother Andrew. Wallace had received it from a courier out of Edinburgh. James knew Margaret feared for her brother and would be grateful for word that he was well, or had been weeks ago when he’d sent the missive to Father Francis at St Giles naming some of the Scots who were spying for the English.

Old memories stirred as Margaret stepped into her father’s house. The cupboard near the hall door had the marks where she and Fergus had nicked it with their wooden wagon. She found the scar on one of the beams where Andrew’s attempt at a knife trick had gone astray. Beneath one of the windows was the bench on which she had been sitting when Roger first tried to win her favour. Yesterday she had been too absorbed by Mungo’s needy affection and Aylmer’s intrusive presence to feel the pull of the past, but this afternoon it was powerful.

‘It is a pretty house,’ said Celia, running a hand along a carved shelf.

Margaret thought it looked bare, austere, but that was only in comparison to what it had been. ‘You’ve seen Ma’s room at the nunnery. This house was as full of colour and almost as crowded as that when Ma lived here. We needed a cook and a servant at the least to keep things tidy, two servants when we were little, and a nurse.’

‘Will such times ever come again?’ Celia wondered. ‘You might have valued a lady’s maid in better times.’

‘What will be left when the English are routed?’ Margaret shivered, seeing the future as a vast void. ‘I’d rather think about the present.’

They both looked up as a board creaked in the solar above.

‘She might not be alone,’ Celia suggested in a whisper as she held Margaret back. ‘Perhaps a few knives from the kitchen?’

‘I’ve something better.’ Margaret led Celia to a trunk beneath the steps. Her father stored an assortment of weapons in it. But as she knelt to it she saw that it no longer bore a lock. Lifting the lid, she found the trunk empty but for a few old pairs of shoes. Edgy now, less confident in her plan, she sat back on her heels and listened to the cautious noises above. ‘I hear only a woman’s tread,’ she said.

Celia nodded. ‘What is still up there?’

‘Da’s clothes, things Ma left behind, Fergus’s belongings.’

‘She won’t be there for ever,’ said Celia. ‘Might we just sit down here and wait for her to discover us? She can’t escape.’

‘Go out to the kitchen for the knives while I wait here.’ Margaret settled on the trunk.

But she was soon on her feet at the sound of Celia’s voice in the yard, loudly denying that anyone was in the house. Footsteps came to the landing above.

‘Who is there?’ the maid called timidly.

Margaret moved beneath the open steps and held her breath as Jonet began her descent, readying herself to catch the maid as she came down. As Jonet’s shoes appeared Margaret considered grabbing an ankle through the steps. She might get some pleasure out of the woman’s tumble. But two men suddenly rushed in from the yard door, sending Jonet fleeing back up to the solar.

Impatience sent James from the kirk and through the backlands to Margaret’s house. He moved slowly, in the character of the elderly friar. He reasoned that there was nothing suspicious in an old friar giving Margaret news of her brother. He might do so in Roger’s presence without compromising anyone.

It was Aylmer who opened the door. He had not the courtesy to invite the old friar to step within, but he did leave the door ajar as he withdrew to
fetch Margaret. Roger and Malcolm were in the hall, tensely facing each other across a table spread with documents. James saw no sign of Fergus but his father’s presence reassured him that the party had arrived.

Roger suddenly rose and approached the door. ‘I’m Roger Sinclair. My man says you have news of my wife’s elder brother?’

James had not seen Roger closely since he’d suffered the injury to his cheek. In fact he had not seen him since shortly after Christmas. He noted with interest the changes in the man, the loss of weight, the scarring and hardening.

He bowed to Roger. ‘One of my brethren saw Father Andrew at the great hospital and found him passing well and eager for news of his family.’ He was thinking how implausible the account sounded, a friar freely speaking to the confessor of the soldiers, when the sound of wood splintering came from the solar.

With a cry of alarm, Roger disappeared within.

James thought it best to depart.

The two men warned Margaret away from the steps and went after Jonet. Relieved to see Celia unhurt, Margaret asked what had happened.

‘They came for Jonet, calling her a thief and a traitor,’ Celia said. ‘I fear—’ She stopped, distracted by Jonet’s cries and curses.

Margaret found it no pleasure to see the
hysterical maid slung over the shoulder of one of the men and borne down the steps like a haunch of venison.

As soon as she was set down in the hall, Jonet bolted for the door, but she fell with a cry as she tripped on her skirts.

19

As Jonet crumpled to the floor she became once more the family maid rather than the enemy of the past hours, and Margaret impulsively hurried forward to help her to her feet, Celia right behind her, but the man who had followed the other stayed Margaret with a firm grasp on her arm.

‘You’ll find some of your family’s goods in there, I’ll warrant, Dame Margaret,’ he said, placing in her free hand a cloth bundle. ‘I’m sure Hugh has done his best not to injure your maid, and when you understand how she has harmed your family you’ll be glad I held you back. She does not deserve your charity.’

Margaret recognised Gilbert Ruthven, the one of whom Fergus had spoken. ‘Why are you after Jonet?’ she asked.

‘We’re after our sterlings and we think she’s taken them,’ he said.

‘That does not give you the right to trespass in my father’s house,’ Margaret said. ‘Gilbert, isn’t it?’ Her stomach churned and her breath was shallow but she was not going to swallow her outrage. ‘You need not have invaded my family’s home to take her. You’re behaving like the English you despise.’

Gilbert smoothed out his brow into a placating expression. ‘Dame Margaret, you don’t ken what I’m telling you about this woman.’

‘I know she has betrayed my family, and I intend to return her to my father and husband, for it is them she has wronged.’

The other man, Hugh he’d been called, stood menacingly over Jonet’s curled-up form. ‘She’s stolen our sterlings.’

‘I’ve stolen no siller.’ Jonet’s voice was muffled, but stronger than Margaret would have expected. ‘I’ve given our deliverers food and drink – you’d do well to do the same.’

‘Traitor,’ Hugh said.

‘You are wrong about the sterlings,’ said Margaret. ‘My father’s ship was boarded by the English and his freedom required a goodly bribe in sterlings. It’s my father with whom you must take up your cause. But you’ll not come to an agreement by invading his household.’ She moved
forward, reaching out to Jonet. ‘Come, there’s no need to lie on the floor.’

‘Let her do as she will, Hugh,’ Gilbert said as his companion moved towards Margaret. ‘This is the home of Dame Margaret’s parents, and this woman is their maidservant.’

Hoping Margaret was in the other place he knew to look, James made his way to Malcolm’s house on Southgate.

Margaret opened the door, her veil askew and her gown dusty.

James wondered whether she’d simply been cleaning, but remembering the sound of a splintering door at her house, he asked, ‘Are you all right? Why are you here?’

‘I might ask the same of you, Friar James, but I’m glad you’ve come.’ She stood back to let him enter.

When James could distinguish people in the dimmer light within, he discovered Celia seated on a bench with an arm around the maid Jonet, who sat woodenly and stared ahead at nothing.

Margaret joined two men who stood near the solar stair looking uneasy. James recognised them as members of the families Wallace was counting on.

‘What is this?’ he asked, half to himself, of the odd assembly.

‘These men forced their way into the house and
treated Jonet so roughly she is unable to walk,’ Margaret said.

‘She tripped,’ said one of the men. ‘Who is this friar to you, Dame Margaret?’

‘My good friend and confessor.’

James was glad that the men did not have Fergus’s keen eyes. ‘You were wrong to trespass, the two of you,’ he said.

‘We thought she’d stolen our siller,’ said Gilbert. ‘But we’ve learned from Dame Margaret that we were mistaken.’

‘But she’s kept company with Englishmen of late,’ said Hugh. ‘I ken a traitor when I see one. Still, we’d no cause to treat her so roughly.’

Gauging the mood of the small party to be not so much hostile as unresolved, James thought he would accomplish more by revealing his identity. Straightening, he said, ‘Forgive Dame Margaret and me for our play-acting, but we must be cautious. I’m James Comyn, sent by the Wallace to make sure of your families’ support.’

The men had first looked bewildered, but now they seemed more at ease.

Knowing that Gilbert’s townhouse was near the north gate, James said, ‘I believe Roger Sinclair will soon arrive. We’ll have no peace here. But we’ve much to discuss. Gilbert, might we come together at your home?’

Gilbert nodded, and both Hugh and Margaret agreed to the plan.

The injured maid came alive and looked about her as if thinking to escape, but Celia took her firmly by the elbow and helped her rise. Hugh joined them and, with either elbow supported, Jonet was able to stand.

Ignoring Aylmer’s looks of impatience, Malcolm tried to reason with Roger. ‘Maggie’s no child, and she has that flint-eyed maidservant with her. Let’s bide here calmly.’

‘What if she’s gone after Jonet?’

Malcolm had told Roger of the maid’s suspected deeds. He chuckled now, imagining Maggie descending upon the unsuspecting maid. ‘The town will be gossiping about it for a long time to come.’

‘And the English will hear of it,’ Roger reminded him.

Indeed. Malcolm was growing too old for intrigue. In his amusement about Maggie’s escape, he’d forgotten his own danger. ‘She’ll have gone to Ada for advice,’ he suggested.

‘Stay here until we return,’ Roger said as he rose and motioned to Aylmer that they were off. ‘If Maggie appears, keep her here. And check that Fergus still breathes.’