The Fire In The Flint (Margaret Kerr Mysteries 2)

by Candace Robb

  She felt discarded. Hal and Geordie seemed to sense her mood, for they quietly assisted her in the clean-up. When she could find no more to fuss over, she sought out Murdoch in his kitchen. Janet sat by the door that looked out on the maid’s cottage.

  ‘Is that where you are biding?’ she asked Celia.

  ‘No, I thought my mistress might need me, so I’m in a room near hers.’

  ‘Someone has been spending time in there.’

  Not wishing to anger Murdoch by saying in his presence that the cook and the former chambermaid were meeting there, Celia merely requested the wine for Margaret and Roger.

  ‘What?’ Murdoch said, feigning disbelief. ‘Had they not enough to warm themselves?’

  ‘Celia has worked long and hard today, Murdoch,’ said Janet, ‘give her what she needs so she might rest.’

  ‘Humph. You lasses stick together,’ Murdoch complained. But he filled a pitcher and set it on a tray with two wooden cups. ‘I suppose you’ll go with your mistress to Perth.’

  ‘If she wishes me to,’ said Celia. So it was settled enough that Murdoch knew of the plan.

  ‘Och, she wishes you to be with her, I’m certain of that,’ said Murdoch. ‘If I allowed it she’d have Hal with her, too.’

  Celia would as lief stay in Edinburgh, but not without Margaret. It cheered her a little to know she was not to be cast aside.

  Roger had gone out to relieve himself. Margaret sat on the bed, hugging her chest to still the shivering. But she was conscious of a deep sadness. She had swallowed it all these months, drop by drop of poison, swallowed it all the months of her marriage. She had hidden away so much sadness, hidden it from prying eyes, even from herself. Blessed Mother, why was I so misled? She had loved Roger, wanted him, trusted him, and trusted those who had encouraged her with him. But once the wedding was over, they had all withdrawn, leaving her to discover how to exist in a suitable but empty marriage. Even Roger had departed as soon as he could.

  The depth of her pain frightened her, as did the knowledge that she had carried this grief unconsciously, convincing herself that she was content, or at least managing to find some contentment in her role. She did not know whether she had ever actually loved him. She was not so innocent as not to know that many women merely tolerated their husbands, but surely she cared for Roger, for she had worried about him all the while he was gone. She must not give in to despair.

  Perhaps her benumbed state had been a blessing, a divine gift to help her perform her duties. But then there must be cause for her sudden awakening.

  She dropped her hands and took great gulps of air, sucking it deep within, steadying herself. Roger returned with wine and cups.

  ‘Bless Celia,’ she whispered.

  ‘She was only doing your bidding,’ Roger said. He handed her a cup and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. ‘Wasn’t she my mother’s servant?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve borrowed her over-long. But I’ve grown to depend on her.’

  ‘Well, we’ve no need for another servant, nor can we afford one.’

  Margaret had not considered parting with Celia. ‘I’ll discuss it with her.’

  ‘You don’t really believe she’ll work merely for food and a roof over her head when she might be paid?’

  ‘Your mother paid her until Martinmas. It is only August, so we need not worry until November. And she has gained more by my uncle’s pay.’

  ‘We can escort her to Dunfermline on our way north.’

  ‘That would be out of our way. The English control the ferry across the Forth.’

  ‘Celia is not yours to command.’

  Margaret tried to bite her tongue, but the thought of losing her one friend compelled her to speak. ‘Celia is a great aid and comfort to me. Jonet is caring for both our house and Da’s, and she’ll need help once we’re all there.’

  ‘Celia returns to my mother, Maggie. That is how it must be.’ Roger’s expression made it clear that he considered the case closed.

  His tone angered her. What did this matter to him? He had not been there when Dame Katherine suggested that Celia accompany Margaret. He was using this to avoid more unpleasant subjects.

  ‘Listen to us,’ she said, controlling her anger, ‘arguing about a servant so that we might avoid mention of more painful things. What is to become of us?’

  Roger said nothing for a moment, and then rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands to his sides as if weary. ‘Is it possible to begin again?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her face suddenly hot with emotion, Margaret fought tears. ‘I have understood these past months how far outside my ken you have been and it frightened me.’

  ‘Can man and woman ever understand one another?’

  ‘God help us if we can’t. Why would He have made us so?’

  Roger stared at the floor, saying nothing. His expression was difficult to read in the flickering light. After a long silence, he asked, ‘Why did you remain here after finding Jack’s murderer?’

  Margaret had hoped for some words of conciliation. ‘Because this is where you’d seen me last,’ she said, a half truth, though of late not true at all.

  ‘Why else?’

  She must not tell him about her work for James. ‘Until Fergus’s recent letter I dreaded the idea of returning to Perth without you. At least here I was occupied, helping my uncle. The countryside is dangerous as well.’

  ‘You’ve changed, Maggie.’

  ‘And you.’

  He came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her and took her hand. ‘Will you go home with me to Perth?’

  ‘Have I not said so?’

  ‘I am asking you anew. Without expectation.’

  She feared that her acceptance would end all conversation. That is how it had worked in the past. ‘Your mission south from George Brankston’s house must have brought you past Perth. Why did you not stop to tell me what had happened? I would have known about Edwina.’

  Roger rose up with a muttered curse. ‘Will we always be divided by that brave, unfortunate woman?’ There was a harsh edge to his voice, and he faced the window, not Margaret.

  It was time to confront him. ‘You brought her here before you came home to Perth last summer. Uncle Murdoch said you’d brought her here before you returned to me. You’re still lying to me, Roger. I don’t know which of your stories to believe – looking for another port from which to ship goods, going to Dundee – you might be lying about those, too. And I’ve never heard you mention the Brankstons.’

  ‘God’s blood, woman, what must I do?’ he shouted, kicking aside a stool in temper. ‘You said we must listen to each other. Then listen!’

  ‘I am listening. But I catch you in lies, I sense you holding things back, and I fear that.’ Though God knew she kept much from him, and lied a little.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from me, I am your husband. If I tell a half truth or hold something back it is for your protection.’

  ‘I believe that ignorance is dangerous in times such as these. What you call protection does not work now.’

  He began to speak, then paused, and dropped his head for a moment. Nodding, he looked up, opening his arms in surrender. ‘I have made mistakes.’

  It was a concession, such as he had never made to her before. She feared pushing him further. ‘Then yes, Roger, I shall go home with you.’

  They undressed shyly this time, and once in bed merely held one another.

  Margaret woke in the night and thought Roger had gone. She sighed and rolled over, then noticed a soft light beyond the bed curtains. Peering through, she found Roger sitting partially clothed, with his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped. A lamp flickered beside him on the bench. His posture saddened her, seeming one of defeat.

  ‘Sleep will not come?’ she whispered.

  He jerked up, startled. ‘My candle woke you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, sitting up, pulling the cover round her. ‘What woke you?’

  ‘The
devil torments me at night with thoughts of what might have been had the Maid of Norway lived, or had Longshanks been honest.’

  ‘Celia could mix you a sleep draught.’

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

  ‘Tell me about where you have been.’

  He gave a dispirited laugh. ‘On horseback, on foot, in leaking boats, sleeping on uneven, damp ground beneath shedding trees. This room is far more comfortable than anywhere I have slept in a long while. Perhaps that is why I’m wakeful.’

  ‘What of Robert Bruce’s household?’

  ‘I am not of his household, so I cannot say. When I have met with him he has looked a landed man, but not grand.’

  ‘Did you see battle?’

  ‘In Ayr it was unavoidable. Percy and Clifford came through in such force that my lords Stewart and Douglas approached them about surrender. Only the Bruce stood firmly against the English. None were great battles. I’ve yet to see thousands of troops marching towards me.’

  Margaret crossed herself at the image he conjured. ‘You were willing to die for him?’

  ‘For us, Maggie. It is all for us,’ he said wearily as he shrugged off his shirt, blew out the candle, and climbed back on to the bed.

  Margaret kissed him on the forehead and opened the blanket to pull him into the warmth. It was a beginning.

  *

  The next few days were filled with chores that cheered Celia. There was much Margaret wished to set to rights before they left. As Celia helped Margaret plan how to accomplish the work, she watched for changes in her mistress’s behaviour, seeking a clue as to whether or not she and Roger were reconciled. Each morning Margaret looked a little more rested, but it was a gradual change. Often Celia heard the murmur of voices when she woke in the night.

  After sending a quantity of bedding to the laundress, they began a systematic cleaning and emptying of the guest rooms, Margaret deciding what items should be moved to the undercroft, such as mattresses that would moulder if the rooms were unoccupied for long. The undercroft, lined in stone, was drier.

  A few mornings after Roger’s arrival they were working in the room across from the one Celia was occupying.

  ‘I am sorry you have been displaced,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Truth to tell, the chamber up here is nicer than the maid’s cottage where I had thought to stay.’

  ‘Perhaps we can make it even more comfortable.’

  ‘But we’re leaving.’

  ‘Surely not for a week or so. There’s much to do to prepare.’ Margaret stepped across to Celia’s room, then returned. ‘Another cruisie, I think. Or several.’

  When they were finished upstairs, Margaret suggested that they move on to the maid’s cottage. ‘Janet mentioned that it seems to be in use, that there’s bedding and lamps within. Did you ready it and then change your mind?’

  Celia knew her mistress’s tenacity in unravelling mysteries, so she told her of Roy’s meetings with Belle.

  Margaret looked embarrassed. ‘I had not guessed. Uncle would be furious to hear that they’ve been meeting in the cottage.’

  Celia knew. ‘They’ve been foolish to risk it, but they’ll not continue for long … Roy started quite a row the other day, telling Belle that with the tavern boarded up he has no occupation, and therefore no choice but to choose a side and arm himself.’

  It was sadly true, Margaret thought as they went down the steps. There seemed no occupation but the war at present. Longshanks was not only stealing their country but their livelihoods, their lives. She wondered whether she and Roger might have been happier in better times.

  They stood now in the cottage doorway, taking in the rumpled bedding, the chairs and a small table with two cups and a flagon.

  Margaret cursed beneath her breath. ‘They’ve been bold enough,’ she said. ‘I can’t think how Murdoch has missed them. Why didn’t you tell me of their trespass before?’

  ‘I thought you had worries enough,’ Celia said.

  ‘When did you discover it?’

  ‘The night Master Roger arrived.’

  Margaret walked in and picked up the cups and flagon. ‘Strip the mattress,’ she said, ‘and remove the lamps. I’ll speak to Roy.’

  ‘Do you think they might have heard something the night of Old Will’s death?’ Celia asked.

  ‘I wish I’d known of their meetings.’

  ‘What is the harm of allowing them what little time together they might yet have?’ Celia asked.

  ‘Roy might wish to work here again one day, Celia. Have you thought of that?’

  Celia shook her head. She thought it unlikely that Roy would return. She could not imagine a man, once he’d tasted soldiering, wishing to cook again.

  Margaret considered sitting out in the yard for a while to enjoy the late-afternoon sun. Since Roger had arrived she’d filled every waking hour with work. But she would just fret about speaking to Roy if she tried to relax before resolving the issue. So she set her shoulders and carried the flagon and cups into the kitchen. She was disappointed to find Geordie alone, looking glum.

  ‘It didn’t feel right to leave without tidying the kitchen,’ he said.

  ‘Murdoch has told you to go?’

  Geordie nodded, his features pulled down by the weight of his unhappiness with the circumstances.

  ‘What will you do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Ma says I’m not to get myself killed.’

  ‘Where is Roy?’

  ‘He’s meeting with someone about going north to join Wallace’s company. He thinks to win Belle’s loyalty by taking up the fight. But he’s a fool. She won’t think of him once he’s out of sight. The English soldiers will suit her just as well as he did.’

  ‘So he’s gone?’

  ‘We’re all gone – Sim hasn’t been about since they closed the tavern.’

  Margaret would not miss him, but Geordie and Roy had become part of her family.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  Geordie nodded, suddenly shy.

  ‘Geordie, when did Belle and Roy begin meeting in the maid’s cottage?’

  He shrugged. ‘I saw them the night Master Roger arrived.’

  ‘How long had Roy been leaving you alone in the kitchen?’

  ‘Early summer – not so long after their babe was born. But I thought he was seeing Belle at her ma’s.’

  ‘If you see Roy, tell him I wish to speak with him.’

  Geordie nodded. ‘God speed, Dame Margaret. I pray that we meet again in this life.’

  Such a chilling prayer. ‘God speed, Geordie.’ Margaret walked out into the sunshine and lifted her face to the warmth, trying not to think of how final these farewells might be. It was time she had a quiet moment in the warm and fresh air. She sat on the bench outside the kitchen and leaned back against the wall. She wished she’d seen Roy before he left. She doubted Belle would tell her anything. The woman was slippery as an eel.

  7

  A TRAP?

  Margaret grew drowsy in the sunlight and began to nod, but was roused by the sound of James and her uncle taking leave of one another. James appeared in the yard between her uncle’s kitchen and the tavern and headed straight for the archway between the two inn buildings, not bothering to look around. It was then that Margaret noticed there was no English soldier behind the tavern. Thinking perhaps he had withdrawn to a shady spot, she searched the close, but saw no sign of a soldier.

  She found her uncle sitting, seemingly napping, near his kitchen fire despite the heat of the day, his bare feet propped on a bench. But as she approached him he said, ‘You’ve tidied all the rooms now, eh?’

  ‘I thought you were asleep.’ She glanced around, thinking the guard might be in here, but her uncle was alone. ‘The soldier is gone.’

  Murdoch chuckled as he sat up. ‘You’ll not find him in here.’

  ‘He’s not in the yard,’ Margaret said.

  ‘He is not.’ Murdoch’s grin stretched ear to ear.

  ‘What have you done?
’

  ‘Made him welcome.’

  ‘If he’s not really gone, but he’s not in here …’ Puzzling over her uncle’s self-satisfied grin, she settled down beside Agrippa, who was curled into a ball. It did not take long for her to venture, ‘You’ve fed him a barrel of ale?’

  Murdoch waggled his head side to side. ‘Not quite a barrel. He’s lying in the straw on the tavern floor, sleeping it off.’ It was evident he was proud of the prank.

  Margaret thought him foolhardy. ‘You trust that he won’t report what you’ve done?’

  ‘Och, Maggie, it’s worth the risk to be free of prying eyes for an afternoon.’ He swung his feet down to the floor and stretched his arms overhead.

  ‘I saw James leave. Surely the English already know he is your partner.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt of that.’ Murdoch’s voice lilted with delight.

  Margaret still did not understand why he thought it worth the risk. ‘Why did you need the guard drunk this afternoon?’

  ‘He was to make a list of all the items in the undercroft. A rare thing, a soldier who can write. I sat down with him to explain the order of things. One drink led to another, and he lay down to rest.’

  ‘You needed time to remove something.’

  ‘James did.’ Murdoch’s grin soured into a scowl. ‘In another day you’ll be gone, Maggie. What I do no longer concerns you.’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘Another day? But there is still so much to do.’ Her hands were suddenly cold. ‘Has Roger said we leave tomorrow?’

  Murdoch nodded solemnly. ‘He told Hal to have the horses ready after dark on the morrow.’

  ‘I’d heard nothing of this,’ Margaret cried, feeling a confusion of anger and panic. ‘I must speak with him. Where is he?’

  ‘He tells me naught, lass.’ Murdoch reached out, squeezed her shoulder. ‘To delay will not make it easier.’

  He used to squeeze her shoulders thus when she had taken a tumble as a child, or been scolded. Courage, Maggie, he used to say. She wanted to stay here with him.