A Chorus of Innocents by P. F. Chisholm Page B

incumbent. Poppy had been proud of that—living in a stone house with a slate roof was better than one of wattle and daub and thatch, though she admitted that it was a lot colder and harder to heat. There was a large handsome entrance hall, decorated with Papistical carvings nobody understood anymore—who was the woman with a towel in her hand and why did a stag have a cross between its antlers?
    The small parlour was still damp and had no rushes on the tiled floor. Lady Hume led Elizabeth to it and opened the door.
    â€œYe may as well satisfy yer curiosity,” she said.
    â€œThank you, Lady Hume,” said Elizabeth and went in to look. That the plate cupboard was open and bare of plate was the first thing she saw, gone were the three silver goblets and a handsome bowl with dancing cherubs on it that she had seen when she stayed with Poppy. The benches along the wall were a little at angles, probably moved by the village women when they cleaned out the rushes. There must have been a lot of brains to clean up, very unpleasant and fatty.
    The gore was gone but she could trace where it had been from the scrubbing and wet walls. It was mainly around the plate cupboard, though not on the cupboard itself. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine James going to get the plate, probably the three goblets, and then one man coming up behind him with a knife, the other man sweeping his sword out and finishing the job when it went a little wrong.
    Who had held Poppy still? Or no, she had been fetching wafers and wine. And who had taken the plate which belonged to Poppy?
    â€œHm,” she said aloud, “where are Poppy’s silver goblets and bowl?”
    Lady Hume shrugged. “Nae doubt but they took them. Why not?”
    Reivers would know someone who could melt it down for the silver, probably Richie Graham of Brackenhill who made a very good thing out of buying plates off reivers for not very much and then minting it up himself into the debauched Scottish shillings to trade over the Border. The plate had been taken by way of a bonus; it was far too little to be worth the raid by itself.
    Still, the fact Jamie had opened the plate cupboard was very interesting, since it showed that the men were indeed known to Jamie, were in fact honoured guests. You wouldn’t give them wine in silver goblets if they were just messengers or strangers unless there was something else about them that made them important.
    â€œHm,” she said, pleased with herself for thinking that one out, and looked around for more interesting details. Robin Carey had told her something about that once, that truth was like gold and essentially indestructible although you could bury it. But there would be traces.
    What would he do, faced with such a puzzle? Well for a start he would be in the saddle looking for the tracks and prints that would show which way the killers had gone, probably with Sergeant Dodd alongside. She couldn’t do that, and in any case, any hoofprints would be indistinguishable from all the people coming into the village. Robin would also be charming the Dowager Lady Hume like a bird out of a tree.
    Before she could get lost in thinking about him, she turned and came out of the parlour, shutting the door firmly behind her.
    â€œI suppose Mrs Burn’s larder has been pillaged?” she said to the lady who sniffed.
    â€œSince she no longer has any claim to it, I have taken it over.” She gave Elizabeth a bold look. Elizabeth knew well that the living was not in her gift but in fact in the gift of the man who held the Lord Hughie’s wardship, which alas, currently was Lord Spynie, the King’s minion. Elizabeth also knew that it could be hard to make ends meet even if you were a lady, here in the north where the living was difficult, certainly if you were trying to hold the lands together for a son and heir aged ten.
    It had taken a great deal of conniving and letter-writing for her to get the