Robert’s thoughts were in turmoil. How could he have overreacted to such an extent?

Ellie Chalmers had been working in the castle kitchens for five months or so, and Robert Marshall vividly recalled the day she’d arrived seeking employment. Normally the quartermaster interviewed applicants for civilian duties but, captivated by her looks and spirit, Robert had taken her to his office for questioning.

“How old are you?” had been his first question. “Twenty, perhaps? I can’t be sure. I’m a foundling, sir. Dumped on a manse doorstep with a pouch of coins.”

“So you’ve no idea who your parents were?” “Long dead, I imagine. Anyway, fortune favoured me, for the minister and his wife gave me their name and raised me as their own until I was 12 years old.”

Robert had seen from her faraway look that she was reliving those years. “They were good to me, sir. Clothed and fed me – and taught me, too. I’m well read and can write. I can do needlework, sketch, paint and cook. But then came an outbreak of cholera. They devoted themselves to attending the sick, and died within days of each other.”

Robert had commiserated with her misfortune. “What happened then?” he asked. ““The minister’s brother took me to the home of the laird in the next shire and I was taken into service.”

“A different way of life, I’m sure.” Moved “You might say that, sir. Beatings, abuse, near starvation and barely four hours sleep each night. I stood it for two years then ran away.”

She’d spent a year with tinkers, she told him, and then taken a variety of menial jobs. “What brought you to Edinburgh?”

“I was working as a maid in a big house near the Border. One day the master summoned me. ‘Ellie,’ he said, ‘you have tae leave us.’ He told me I must come here to Edinburgh. He said it was none of his doing or wish that I leave him but that once I had settled here, everything would become clear.” “And has it?” The girl had shaken her head. Moved by her story Robert had given Ellie a position in the castle kitchens. Now his thoughts were in turmoil. How could he have overreacted to such an extent? But the girl had slandered his quartermaster and would have to pay for that.

Reaching the guardhouse he found Ellie flanked by two soldiers. She held herself proudly and showed no sign of fear. He squared his shoulders.

“Take her to the Great Hall and down to the vaults.”

Following on, he waited as Ellie was bundled into the dark room and made sure the soldiers locked the door. At least the room would be dry and free of the rats to be found in the castle’s dungeons.

“Release her at the same time tomorrow,” he commanded, “and not a drop to eat or drink.”

He was still racked with guilt at his actions. What worried him most was the possibility that the girl’s accusation had been true. “Fetch Quartermaster Anderson here immediately,” he snapped when he returned to his desk. Crowded It was a cold, dry morning as Kirsty and Malcolm set off, armed with leaflets announcing the opening of the Canongate Mission. The streets were crowded with people and animals and the stench was overpowering. “I’ll get used to it,” she replied when Malcolm sympathised with her misery.

Their progress was slow, as the majority of those who accepted the leaflets couldn’t read and the pair found themselves trying to explain the Mission’s purpose. Most of those who took time to listen lost interest quickly and Kirsty began to lose heart.

“Those that say they might come are only wanting soup and bread,” she muttered.

“That’s a start, at least. Feed their bellies first and their souls later. I think your father would be the first to agree,” Malcolm went on. “An empty stomach dulls the ear.”

“Away with you!” Kirsty laughed and playfully pushed him aside, which caused him to stumble against a great hulk of a man forcing his way through the throng. The man grabbed him around the neck.

“Are ye blind, son?” he rasped. “It’s my fault, sir,” Kirsty said quickly. “I pushed him and he lost his balance.” The man leered at her.

“Well, he’s going to lose his teeth as well,” he growled. “Nobody shoves Davy Burke and gets away with it.” A few titters came from the watchers. Still grasping Malcolm, the man looked closely at Kirsty. “My, but you’re a pretty lassie.” Malcolm, held at arm’s length, flailed wildly but his blows made little impact. “Leave her alone, you great lummox!” he shouted.

“Aye, why don’t you, brother?” came a voice as another man pushed his way forward. He was tall and sturdy and dressed in the sober black cloth of a cleric, a white ruff at his neck. The bully turned to face the stranger. “And who might you be?” he snarled.

“Samuel Proudfoot at your service, sir,” the other replied, raising his brimmed hat. “Reverend Proudfoot, to be precise.”

The big man spat on the ground. “Well, Reverend Proudfoot, take yourself off afore I stick your fancy ruffles down your throat.”

The cleric raised a placating hand. “Such threats, and against a man of the cloth, too!”

The crowd had fallen silent, wondering what would happen next. “Come along, my dear fellow,” the reverend said softly, “be reasonable. These two young folk meant no harm. Let them be, and that’ll be an end to it.”

But Burke would have none of it. “Take your holy hide away from here, Reverend, afore I blacken your eyes.”

Sighing, Proudfoot gave a gesture of helplessness. “So be it,” he murmured, brushing past the hapless Malcolm. “I did my best.”

Burke jeered as the cleric passed behind him but the cry died suddenly and with a heaving gasp he staggered, releasing Malcolm. The big man’s eyes glazed and, knees buckling, he sank to the ground. Solemn “Gracious!” the Reverend exclaimed, kneeling beside the prostrate man and peering closely. “The poor fellow has had some form of seizure!”

He placed two fingers against Burke’s neck. “I do believe he has passed away.”

The onlookers stood in silence as the cleric removed his hat and bowed his head over the body, though no-one could catch the mumbled words.

Rising to his feet, Proudfoot looked solemn. “Best I seek out the City Guard,” he said. “They’ll see to matters.”

Touching the brim of his hat, he made off into the crowd, then turned. “If I were you, I’d go about my business again. Explanations may prove awkward.”

“He’s right, Kirsty.” Malcolm touched her arm. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

Reluctantly the girl agreed and let him lead her away. Minutes after they’d gone a mother and her young son came across the body. The boy looked fearfully at the dead man.

“What’s that, Mama?” he asked, pointing. His mother studied the ground and the growing stain beneath the body. “Blood, son,” she muttered, pulling him roughly. “Come away.” More tomorrow.