The Rough Collier (15 page)

‘Oh, aye,’ agreed the taller brother. ‘He mostly does. Meets us outside Forth town.’

‘Sweet St Giles!’ He looked from one man to the other. ‘I take it Mistress Weir doesny know of it.’

‘What do you think?’ said the taller man, the light catching his teeth as he grinned.

‘So where does he go? Does he simply stay in Lanark drinking?’ Gil looked about at the twilight. ‘Will we sit down and you can tell me what you know about the man.’

There were three stumps of driftwood drawn up in the mouth of one of the sheds, an unlit wood fire set and the ashes of many more fires scattered on the shore around them. Seated here, the Patersons answered his questions, slowly at first, then more confidently. The taller brother, it seemed, was Jock, and it had been his idea originally to take up Sir Thomas Bartholomew’s suggestion and seek work in Lanarkshire.

‘Lanark folks is all right,’ he said dismissively. ‘A bit soft, especial in the head, but they’re kind enough.’

‘Lanark lassies is more than all right,’ observed Tam, smacking his lips.

His brother kicked his ankle. ‘Och, see you? Anyway, we get there, maister, and find Tammas Murray, that was at the sang-schule in Kincardine wi’ our brother Davy, set in authority in the place. He was right pleased to see us and all.’

‘Took us on like a maid embracing her lover, so he did,’ supplied Tam. ‘Treated us well, too. Choice of lodging, bed to oursels, laddie to carry our gear whenever we was working, fetch our sister to mind the house – though that never lasted, she up and wedded Attie Logan.’

‘And we hadny been in our place six month afore he sends for us one morning and he says to us, private like –’

‘I’ve a proposition, he says.’

‘Aye, a proposition. D’ye think, he says, ye can find your way about Lanarkshire and back here with a bag of coin.’

‘What’s in it for us, says I.’

‘And he says, ye’ll get paid extra for it if ye can keep your mouths shut, says he. So we agreed a fee, and he sets out wi’ us, and in Lanark he leaves us wi’ a list of where we’ve to call, and the names of who to ask for at each place, and what’s owed, and we do the whole round and then meet him in Forth.’

‘And we’ve done it every quarter since,’ contributed Tam.

‘And no a word to anyone, till now.’

‘Well!’ said Gil. ‘And where was Murray while you were collecting the coin?’

‘Now that,’ said Jock with deep regret, ‘we’ve never jaloused. It’s aye the same place he leaves us, in the midst of Lanark.’

‘We took it he was wi’ a lassie, but we never found out where.’

‘A pity, that, seeing what like his wife is at the Pow Burn,’ said Jock thoughtfully. ‘If I’d that Joanna in my bed, I’d no feel the need to keep another in secret.’

‘No accounting for tastes.’

‘You never asked him?’

‘We did not. He’s no one for idle chat, Tammas Murray.’

‘And how long has this been going on?’

The brothers looked at one another in the firelight.

‘Two year?’ said Tam.

‘No as long,’ said Jock. ‘It was after Matt Crombie died, no the first quarter’s reckoning but the next. A year past at Martinmas, I’d say.’

‘A year and a half, then. Since before he wedded Joanna,’ Gil said.

‘Aye, but it went on after.’

‘But where does he go? Do you think he stays in the town, or does he venture out elsewhere?’ Gil asked.

‘I followed him one time,’ said Tam, ‘but I lost him afore the top of the town. It was market-day, ye see, and he just vanished in the crowd. Must ha’ jouked up a vennel.’

‘What, you lost a red-haired man?’ said Gil in faint disbelief.

‘Aye, red-haired, wi’ a great blue bonnet on like a’body else’s.’

‘So how come you’re asking for him, maister?’ asked Jock. Tam, looking along the row of salt-pans, rose and went to poke at one of the fires.

‘The men from Thorn found a red-haired corp in their peat-cutting,’ Gil explained.

‘A corp? St Peter’s bones, what’s that doing in a peat-cutting?’ exclaimed Jock. ‘Is it Tammas Murray, then? Is he dead right enough, and you never said?’

‘It isn’t Murray,’ Gil said carefully, ‘but I’m beginning to fear he’s dead right enough, for he’s never turned up yet. David Fleming was convinced that the corp was Murray, and that Mistress Lithgo had set it there by means of witchcraft.’

‘Beattie? No Beattie!’ said Tam, sitting back on his heels, the fire-glow lighting his face. ‘She’d no do a thing like that. Davy Fleming’s no done her any harm, has he?’

‘Phemie called out the day shift and rescued her.’

‘She would,’ said Jock, grinning in the firelight. ‘That’s a fechtie lass, that Phemie. And did that sort it? He’s no laid charges against Beattie, has he? He’ll have the whole of the colliers to reckon wi’ if he has.’

‘He’ll have Adam Crombie to reckon with,’ Gil said. ‘The young man came home yestreen, and was for Cauldhope this morning to confront Fleming.’

‘Oh, well. Raffie should sort him. But where has Tammas Murray got to?’ said Tam Paterson. He rose and returned to his log, bringing a lighted stick with him which he set to the fire at their feet. ‘You say he’s no turned up at the Pow Burn either, maister? That’s . . . that’s . . .’ He paused, reckoning on the free hand. Flames sprang in the tinder under the driftwood. ‘Aye, five week or more since we parted from him in Lanark town.’

‘We’ve been right concerned,’ said his brother, ‘but you’ll see it’s no just a matter of going back to the Pow Burn to ask for him. The auld wife would ha’ questions for us, and the first would be, Where did he part from you?’

‘And where does he part from you?’ Gil asked. ‘Can you recall anything that might help me track him down?’

‘The Nicholas,’ said Jock promptly. ‘Hard by St Nicholas’ kirk. Juggling Nick’s they call it.’ Gil nodded, familiar with the inn and its sign where the mitred saint stared up the market-place in half-length, his three purses floating round his halo. Its landlady was feared by drinkers in four parishes. ‘We aye light down there for a drink after we’ve rid in from Jerviswood, he collects from the two accounts we’ve got in the town, and then he takes off.’

‘On foot?’

‘On foot.’

‘So not far, then.’ Gil considered. ‘Somewhere in the town, or not far outside it. If it was in the town, I’d ha’ thought he’d ha’ turned up by now, the word about the corp in the peat-cutting should be all over the Middle Ward. Does he leave his horse at Juggling Nick’s?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Then he rides up to meet us when we get to Forth. He’ll get a week wi’ his woman, I suppose,’ reckoned Jock. ‘She must be a patient soul, to put up wi’ that. Aweek wi’ your man once a quarter doesny seem like a lot.’

‘Joanna Brownlie might think it was enough,’ said Tam darkly.

‘Did he never let anything slip, then? Nothing that might give us a direction?’

The two men considered, and Jock shook his head.

‘He’d a sprig of yew in his hat one time he joined us,’ offered Tam. ‘Tucked behind his St Andrew. Had berries on it.’

‘There’s yew grows everywhere,’ objected his brother. ‘That’s no use.’

‘No, but it might mean the lassie dwells by a yew tree.’

‘It’s still no use, you daft lump.’

‘It might help. Is Juggling Nick’s the same place he goes drinking, do you know? I’m told he goes down into Lanark once a week or so.’

‘You don’t think he takes us wi’ him,’ said Jock.

‘Just the same,’ said his brother, ‘I’d say it might be. He’s a kent face there, aye joking wi’ the lassies and taking snash from the ostlers he’d never take from us.’

‘It sounds like it,’ Gil agreed. He rose, and stretched his back. ‘I had best get back to the Ship afore they bar the doors. My thanks to the both of you for all this. If you think of anything else I’ll be glad to hear it, though I’ll be away back into Lanarkshire at first light.’

‘Aye well, here’s a thing,’ said Jock. ‘Just talking of it now, it comes into my mind. Could his lassie maybe work at Juggling Nick’s? They’ve two or three lassies about the place, to see to the chambers and the kitchen and that.’

‘No yew trees in the midst of Lanark town, but,’ said his brother.

‘Aye there is,’ retorted Jock, ‘there’s a great yew tree in St Nicholas’ kirkyard leans ower the wall.’

‘I think I need to head for Lanark the first chance I get,’ said Gil.

Chapter Eight

‘Michael was to start for Lanark at first light,’ said Alys, from her place in the circle of Gil’s arm, ‘so he has had most of the day now to search Lanark. He reckoned he could more easily spare half a dozen men for the day than Madame Mère,’ she explained, with a quick smile at his mother. ‘But I hoped he might send word of my patient.’

Gil drew her closer, relishing her solid warmth. It had been, somehow, a longer ride home than the one out to Blackness, and the thought of her welcome had greatly cheered the journey. He used his other hand to scratch the ears of the rather damp wolfhound who leaned against his knee, making the dog groan ecstatically.

‘Maybe I should have gone on to Lanark to find him myself. I’m reluctant to ride further, to be honest . . .’

‘Well you might be,’ said his mother, with a wry glance at the cushion of the bench he had chosen to sit on. ‘I can spare Steenie that long, I suppose. Indeed, he should be back soon. And I bade him ask after Fleming while he was about it, my dear,’ she added to Alys.

‘Yes, Fleming,’ said Gil. ‘You say it was Crombie beat him?’

‘So he told us,’ Alys agreed. ‘He made better sense later, once we had got him back to Cauldhope, and washed his hurts and put him to bed. He said he was out in the fields, on his way to wherever it was Michael had sent him, and Crombie and his men found him, and set about him with sticks.’

‘Crombie had one man and no sticks when he left here,’ Gil said.

‘No, I thought that, and I would have said from his bruises they rather used their fists and feet.’

‘
Gaif him an outragious blaw, and great boist blew
,’ suggested Gil.

Her quick smile flickered as she placed the quotation, but she went on, ‘I suppose Crombie wished to threaten him about the charge against Mistress Lithgo. But Gil, I am still puzzled by his lying in a swoon half the day like that, and by the convulsions. I could find no blow to the head that would account for it. I wonder if Mistress Lithgo would tell me . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘So you think,’ said Lady Egidia, ‘that the man Murray has a mistress in or near Lanark, and visits her once a quarter while these two brothers collect the money for him.’

‘It looks very like it,’ Gil said. Socrates nudged his hand, and he scratched behind the dog’s ears again. Awaft of the animal’s fishy breath reached him.

‘It’s odd, mind you,’ persisted his mother, ‘if that’s so, that word’s never got round. It’s a small enough neighbourhood, after all. Carluke folk go down to the market at Lanark, and a juicy bit of gossip like that would travel, you’d think.’

‘He might visit her under another name,’ said Alys.

‘He’d be recognized by someone as he came or went, I’m sure of that.’

‘He goes in disguise,’ said Gil. ‘A turban and a false beard from the Corpus Christi costume kist.’

‘
Corpus Christi costume kist
. Now yon’s a tongue-trap!’ said his mother, half laughing.

‘Perhaps she lives secluded,’ suggested Alys. ‘In a green desert, with one faithful hound for company.’ She reached across Gil to stroke their own faithful hound’s head, and the dog licked her wrist with a long tongue.

‘The yew tree wouldn’t fit with that,’ said Gil. ‘They mostly grow in a kirkyard or at least by a chapel.’

‘She is the guardian of the chapel, of course.’

‘What, and a man’s mistress these two years as well?’

‘Temptation can strike anyone,’ Alys responded seriously.

‘The yew tree might be on the road to her home,’ said Lady Egidia.

‘Can you think of anywhere that might fit, Mother? You know this side the river better than I do.’

‘If it’s so much out of the way,’ said Alys, ‘surely nobody can know of it.’

‘You get the odd dwelling down by the Clyde itself,’ said Lady Egidia, nodding in acknowledgement of this point, ‘even in the gorge below Lanark. But I’ve a notion I’ve seen something elsewhere. A solitary place in the cut of one of the rivers, on the way to nowhere. Now where was it and why was I going that way?’

‘Exercising the horses?’ suggested Alys.

‘Maybe Michael will have learned something of use,’ said Gil doubtfully. ‘I’d like to find Murray, and get this whole matter dealt with. And what about the corp we do have? Has anyone claimed to know him yet?’

‘No, and it seems there has been a great stream of folk to inspect him,’ Alys said. ‘Henry was kept too busy to wash the dog on his own yesterday. I suppose the whole parish must have heard how he was found, no doubt they want to tell their grandchildren they saw him. Most of those who looked have prayed for him, Henry says, so at least he benefits by that.’

Gil nodded. ‘I’ve been wondering,’ he said, ‘if his death could be much older than we first thought. Maybe as far back as Wallace’s time, or even beyond it. Old Forrest the huntsman had no knowledge of him, and his recollection goes back over a hundred years.’

‘Could he be from even longer ago, from before the Flood?’ asked Alys. ‘The men who were cutting the peat talked of tree-roots and elf-bolts that they found under it, from Noy’s time, so why not this man as well? He’s well enough preserved, I would have thought, he could have lasted so long.’

‘He wasn’t under the peat,’ Gil objected, ‘he was in its midst.’

‘Then he must be from halfway back to Noy’s Flood,’ offered Alys. ‘Gil!’ She sat up straight, turning to stare at him, brown eyes round. ‘Gil, do you suppose he could be from the time when Our Lord was born? That he might have seen the star that led the kings?’

‘I suppose he could. There’s no way of telling,’ Gil said cautiously, reluctant to contradict such a notion. Socrates raised his head from his master’s knee to stare at the door. ‘But surely he wouldn’t have seen the star even so. It led the kings out of the east, not the west.’

‘But he might have heard the angels in the sky.’ Alys’s eyes were shining. ‘Perhaps he went to Bethlehem. I would have done.’

‘So would we all. That’s a bonnie thought,’ said Lady Cunningham, abandoning her reflections. ‘What is it, Alan?’

In the doorway of the chamber, the steward ducked in an apologetic bow.

‘Right apposite to what ye were just saying, mistress,’ he said. ‘It’s Jackie Heriot walked out from Carluke asking for a word about the man out of the peat-digging. Will ye see him, or no?’

‘Sir John?’ Lady Cunningham raised her brows, and rose to her feet. ‘Aye, send him in, Alan. Good day to you, Sir John. What can we do for you the day?’

Sir John Heriot, bowing low over his round black hat, had to ask after his parishioner’s health, exclaim over encountering Alys again, congratulate Gil on his marriage, admire the wolfhound, who beat his tail on the floor a couple of times in acknowledgement. Eventually the priest was persuaded to sit down, saying, ‘It’s in a good hour I meet Mistress Mason again. Indeed. I think I have a message for you. You mind you were asking for a Marion Lockhart of this parish, madam?’

‘Who’s that?’ Gil asked. ‘The place is full of Lockharts.’

‘Joanna’s mother,’ Alys supplied. ‘Go on, sir.’

‘Well, after you left St Andrew’s kirk yesterday, Isobel Douglas – Isa –’

‘Oh, yes.’ Alys nodded, smiling. ‘A good woman, I think.’

A faint grimace crossed Sir John’s broad fair-skinned face. ‘Oh, aye, indeed. A valued member of my flock, Isa is. Aye busy about the kirk or my house. Indeed. And yestreen afore Vespers Isa came to me to say she feared she’d sent you on a fool’s errand. I think she tellt you Mistress Lockhart’s sons were across the river in Lesmahagow?’ Alys nodded again. ‘Indeed. It seems now she’s recalled different. One of them went away into Ayrshire some years ago, and the other moved to Glasgow last Lammas-tide.’

‘To Glasgow?’ repeated Alys.

‘Why ever would he do that?’ Gil asked. ‘If he’d land to farm in Lesmahagow, what’s to take him to Glasgow?’

‘He gave up the farm,’ said Sir John. ‘Isa gave me no sensible idea why, though she said something about birds. Maybe they ate the seed-corn and his crop failed. Indeed. Nor she never said which of the two it was, nor how he would support himself in Glasgow.’

‘There’s ways enough,’ said Gil, ‘but he’d need some skill or other.’

‘You’ve contacts in plenty in Glasgow,’ said his mother, ‘and the burgh’s no that big. You should be able to find the man. What was his surname? Brownlie? Do you know his own name?’

‘Either Hob or Tammas,’ Alys said. ‘If I send to my father, he can put that in motion, I suppose. Sir John, I’m grateful for this. I hope you’ll pass my thanks to Dame Isa too. Did you come all the way out here just for that? It was most kind of you.’

Sir John blushed like a youth, but admitted, ‘No, no, I canny claim it. Indeed. I wished to hear more of this man in the peat-digging, and maybe to get a keek at him if he’s yet above ground.’

‘Oh, he’s above ground,’ said Lady Cunningham sardonically. ‘Lying coffined in my feed-store wi’ half the parish waiting in line to inspect him. You’re welcome to a look at him, Sir John.’

The corpse in the feed-store had deteriorated further, though it still smelled only of peat. Preserved far beyond corruption, Gil thought. He could see cracks in the shrunken flesh now, and the skin was beginning to dry out and peel away in places.

‘Did you get his finger back, Alan?’ he asked. ‘And I hope he’s lost no more oddments.’

‘Aye, it’s there.’ Alan, standing by with the keys, nodded to a small object folded in linen by the corpse’s elbow as if it was a saint’s relic. ‘I wrapped it up decent.’

Sir John bent over the coffin and uncovered, crossing himself, then laid his free hand cautiously on the shock of red hair and snatched it away.

‘It’s like horsehair,’ he said. ‘Aye, poor soul. What a death he’s met. Slain three times over, as your man said. And have you no idea who he might be?’

‘There’s a many folk seen him that’s offered one name or another,’ said Alan, ‘but none of them seems to fit, and no two has come up wi’ the same name. By rights we ought to have someone at their beads by him,’ he admitted, ‘and maybe a couple o’ candles, but Henry willny have candles in here.’

‘Oh, no,’ agreed Sir John, with a glance at the sacks of feed. ‘Indeed no.’

‘My husband thinks he may be a man from an earlier time,’ Alys offered.

‘Earlier?’ The priest looked round at Gil. ‘How much earlier, would you say?’

Gil explained his thoughts, aware of the interest of the stable-hands gathered round the door. Sir John replaced his felt hat and listened with care.

‘You tell me the peat grows,’ he said. ‘I never thought of that. I just thought it was aye there. No, I suppose, I’ve heard the old folk talk of where there was a drowning pool in the moss aforetime, where there’s only peat now.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Gil. ‘I’ve heard the same.’

‘And at the bottom of the peat you find logs and the like,’ continued Sir John. ‘Aye, I agree, now I think on it that could easy be from the time of the Flood.’

‘And this man was halfway down the peat,’ said Alys.

Gil watched the priest’s expression change slowly as his thoughts followed Alys’s. He could see the moment when enlightenment struck; the man crossed himself hastily, dragging off his hat again, and bent the knee to the indifferent corpse.

‘I must away back to the town,’ he said. ‘I need to go through the kirk records. There may be something . . . Indeed.’

He turned to the doorway, and the stable-hands scattered, but the light was cut off. Lady Cunningham paused on the threshold, glanced briefly at the corpse, crossed herself, and held out a set of tablets tied with tape.

‘Steenie’s returned, Gilbert, with word from Michael. He will be here for supper, and it seems they may have located Murray’s bolt-hole. ‘

‘You wrote,’ said Gil, handing the little glasses of cordial, ‘that you’d a name for one of Murray’s drinking friends, and directions to find the fellow.’

‘I did,’ agreed Michael. He raised his glass in a toast to his godmother, and she smiled and responded. ‘Your man reached me at a good moment. I’d found Murray’s horse, left standing at Juggling Nick’s for weeks, I was just fending off Bessie Dickson’s demands for five weeks’ livery – which is sheer impudence,’ he added, ‘for the beast’s plainly been working for its keep! Then Steenie arrived wi’ your word, and I was able to turn the argument, why had Bessie no sent to his friends, passed the word round those he drinks wi’. But,’ he concluded, and took another taste of the bright glassful, ‘she claims she couldny.’

‘Why not?’ asked Alys.

‘Seems he mainly drinks wi’ this one fellow, name of Andro Syme, fellow much his age that’s a forester to Bonnington, and he’s not been seen in the town for a few weeks either. I got a description of sorts – ordinary height, ordinary coloured hair, grey eyes. One of the lassies said he was gey handsome but she thought he’d a woman already, he never looked her way.’ Michael grinned. ‘Bessie had a word or two to say about that. So I’ve got the directions to Syme’s cottage, down in the gorge below St Kentigern’s, but it was too late in the day by then to be starting out after him, let alone waiting for you to catch up with us, Maister Gil.’

‘You’re telling me this drinking companion hasn’t been seen either?’ persisted Gil.

‘That’s right,’ Michael agreed. ‘Maybe the two of them have gone off together. Gone to sea, gone to England, gone to the Low Countries. Maybe they’ve both got a lassie in Edinburgh or somewhere.’

‘Why would they leave now? Did they leave Juggling Nick’s together?’

‘Not that Bessie said.’ Michael sounded startled. ‘I got the idea Murray had simply left his horse wi’ her and gone off alone. Syme wasny there.’

‘And that was when Bessie last saw Murray? Did you check that?’

‘Do you know, I did,’ said Michael, with an air of triumph. ‘He was back there no so long after he’d been in wi’ the two other colliers, looked in and asked for his friend, and went away again. Bessie’s not seen him since. And that I’ll believe,’ he went on, ‘for she’d have had the money for his horse’s keep off him if he showed his bonnet round the door.’

‘You’ve done well,’ said Lady Cunningham in approving tones. Michael glanced at her, his colour deepening in the candlelight, and she smiled at him again. ‘And tomorrow you can go to the forester’s house.’