‘Excuse me, does St Giles’ have a graveyard?’
One man looks at the other and it’s the second priest who answers. ‘We bury folk at Greyfriars Kirk, ma’am, or at the Calton. Both a short walk.’
‘I’m looking for the grave of a woman who was a parishioner some time ago. Marie Maitland. Do you know her?’
‘She’s notorious. She had a run in with Reverend Knox.’
‘Knox?’
The priest’s eyes betray his disbelief that Araminta doesn’t recognise the name. He turns to the other fellow. ‘That’s why we must have a statue, Jamie,’ he says.
‘You’re English are you, madam?’ Jamie checks.
Araminta nods. The second priest raises his eyes as if to say that explains it.
‘John Knox,’ he lays it out. ‘Scotland’s most famous preacher. He was minister here and stood up to Mary Queen of Scots. She was a Catholic monarch; Scotland’s last.’
‘Reverend Knox was one for an argument with a lady then,’ Araminta ventures.
Jamie laughs. ‘He wrote a good deal about that, madam. He was buried here.’
‘Here? Not Greyfriars or the Calton?’
‘St Giles’ had a graveyard in Knox’s day. He was among the last to be interred. The new court library is built over the site and the lawyers’ chambers and holding cells.’ The man gestures beyond the wall of the kirk, as if Araminta might not have noticed the fancy new buildings.
‘Might Marie Maitland be buried here too?’ she asks.
The priest considers this. ‘Perhaps. She was younger than Knox. In any case, the graves were moved long before the recent building. The advocates have had their chambers here for a long time.’
The second priest cuts in. ‘There’s been a church here since the twelfth century. There were a lot of gravestones.’
Araminta sighs. ‘Do you have parish records?’ she asks. ‘Might there be something recorded about Mistress Maitland and this run-in with Reverend Knox? Or her burial?’
‘The lawyers would have it,’ Jamie says. ‘It’s been written about of course. Not as much as Knox and the queen,’ he adds dismissively.
‘And the lawyers are across the square?’
He nods.
There’s a doorman beneath the portico outside and today he’s sitting on a tiny stool enjoying the winter sun. He springs to his feet as Araminta approaches.
‘The minister at St Giles’ said there are church records in this building.’
‘I don’t know about that, ma’am. It’s a law library,’ the doorman says, matter of fact.
‘Is there a librarian?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good.’ She makes for the door but he steps into her path.
‘No women allowed.’
‘What if a lady has a case?’
The doorman looks flummoxed. ‘I expect if a lady had a case, she might be brought by her advocate.’ He regards her. ‘Do you have a case?’
‘Perhaps,’ she says slowly. ‘My solicitor is Mr Drummond.’
