The Counterfeit Madam Read Online Free PDF Page B

yourself.’
    ‘It aye upsets me,’ croaked Dame Isabella, with less than her usual force, ‘when folk crosses me. Don’t let them cross me, Annot.’
    ‘How your woman’s to prevent it,’ said Sempill angrily, ‘is more than I can see. You’ve crossed the rest of us the day, madam, and I’ll see you—’
    ‘John.’
    ‘And I want a word wi you, Sempill,’ added Dame Isabella, suddenly regaining vigour. ‘There’s a matter needs discussion. You’ll attend me this afternoon, or I’ll ken the reason.’
    Canon Cunningham glanced over his shoulder at the March sunshine.
    ‘I must away,’ he said, without visible regret. ‘Richie will have two sets of witnesses and their men of law waiting for me. I’ll leave it in your hands then, Gilbert.’

Chapter Two
    ‘What is your kinsman about, making such an offer?’ asked Maistre Pierre, and hitched the collar of his big cloak higher. ‘Confound this wind. It would bite through plate mail.’
    ‘I’ve no notion,’ admitted Philip Sempill, closing the gate of his town house behind them. ‘If John was acting alone I’d assume he was up to no great good, but Maidie Boyd is a different matter. She’ll deal honestly.’
    ‘If I hadn’t recognized the house, she would never have pointed it out to me,’ Gil observed.
    ‘ Caveat emptor ,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘She is not obliged to do so, after all.’
    ‘How did John come to wed her? Was it you promoted the match, Philip?’ Gil asked, setting off down Rottenrow towards the Wyndhead.
    ‘It was,’ the other man agreed, falling into step beside him.
    Gil turned to catch his eye.
    ‘So that was your revenge,’ he said, grinning. ‘And a good one, too.’
    ‘Revenge?’ Philip repeated, his expression innocent. ‘I proposed a match I thought would suit my kinsman, is all.’
    ‘But why the whorehouse?’ persisted Maistre Pierre. ‘I should have thought, if it brings in so good a rent, they would sooner hold onto it.’
    ‘I think Maidie’s embarrassed by it,’ said Philip.
    ‘I’m flattered,’ said Gil obliquely.
    They made their way down the slope of Rottenrow and into the busy Drygate, walking fast in the chill wind. Here the sound of hammers, of shuttle and loom, of wood and metal tools, was all round them. Glass-workers, wax-pourers, metalworkers of many kinds, embroiderers and makers of images, occupied the smaller buildings on the back-lands, practising all the amazing variety of trades which supported the life of a cathedral church. Further down the Drygate itself, past the narrow wynd which led to the tennis-court, a row of shops such as those of the burgh stationer and Forrest the apothecary gave way to houses of stone and then of wood. There were fewer passers-by, and the slope levelled out. Gil stopped beside a gable-end of wattle and daub, looking along the muddy alley which led past the house door.
    ‘That’s the toft belongs to Holy Rood altar there,’ he said, gesturing at the building they had just passed, ‘so this and the next one are the ones that concern us. This must be Clerk’s Land, where we have three houses and two workshops—’ He craned from the end of the alleyway, counting. ‘There are more buildings than that, we’d need a closer look. What do you think, Philip?’
    ‘There is a hammerman in this nearest shop,’ observed Maistre Pierre over Philip’s agreement. ‘Smallwares, I think,’ he added, listening to the metallic beating. ‘Perhaps a pewterer. And there is a lorimer yonder, to judge by the leather scraps on the midden.’
    ‘We can check that later,’ said Gil. ‘For now, I’d be well in favour of accepting this toft on John’s behalf, subject to closer inspection. Would you agree?’
    ‘Oh, certainly.’ His father-in-law braced himself. ‘Now do we visit this bawdy-house? They will be disappointed when they find we are not customers.’
    ‘It’s the paintings that interest me,’ said Philip, grinning. ‘Eckie told me more about