The Rough Collier (18 page)

‘I’ll go over all that when Joanna can hear me,’ said Gil. She looked at Michael, whose expression was giving away more than he realized, and nodded reluctantly. ‘But I need to ask all of you more questions about the last time you saw the man. Can you mind what order things happened the day he left here?’

‘What, after this time? Why d’you need to know?’ Her gaze sharpened. ‘Was it no a natural death, then?’

‘Try,’ said Gil, ignoring this. ‘Cast your mind back.’

She considered him briefly, then shrugged. ‘We broke our fast as usual, I suppose, him and Joanna in here, the rest of us in the other great chamber, the one where we sat the first time you were in this house.’ Gil nodded. ‘There would be porridge and bannocks and small ale, the way there always is. Then the horses were brought round, and the Paterson lads wi’ them.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Then Murray would have come through the house and spoke to Arbella, looking for any last instruction she had for him. Aye, that’s right. And she bade him mind her birthday.’

‘What did he say to that?’

Phemie curled her lip. ‘He said something like,
Oh, I’ll
not forget, madam. It would be a great feast wherever I was
.’

‘Did you see the flask she gave him?’

‘Flask?’ said Phemie blankly. ‘She wouldny give him the time of day, save it was in his contract of labour.’

‘Did she have any other instructions for him?’

‘None that I recall. Then he said farewell to Joanna, and we all went out to the horses, and Arbella gave them her blessing the way she does, and they rode off.’

‘And all this was just as usual?’

‘It was. Even the way he said farewell to her.’ Phemie jerked her head at the bed, where Joanna was beginning to stir.

‘How was that? What was usual about it?’

Phemie hesitated, apparently at a loss.

‘Just the way he spoke. And the way she backed off as if he’d struck her. She’s a poor thing,’ she said quietly, but her mother looked round at the words.

‘Phemie, if Maister Cunningham’s finished with you, you may go and tell your grandmother what’s to do here.’

‘I suppose,’ she said ungraciously. ‘Since she’s clearly no jaloused it for herself.’

‘Phemie!’

By the time Arbella Weir entered the chamber, supported by a granddaughter at each elbow, Joanna was sitting up, sobbing quietly and sipping at the omnipresent cordial, her beads clutched in her other hand.
A woman sate
weping, with favour in her face far passing my reson
, Gil thought, looking at her across the chamber. Beatrice was still at her side, but the women had been dismissed to the kitchen, and had gone with some regret, until one of them had recalled that Michael’s men would be there with all the information one could wish for. Jamesie Meikle stood by the head of the bed, as still as a stone evangelist in a niche, and stared at Joanna. Alys had come to sit at Gil’s side; he found her very presence comforting, and the warm pressure of her arm tucked into his seemed to clear his head.

‘Oh, my poor lassie,’ said Arbella in the doorway. She paused, took her stick from Bel and made her way to the bedside. ‘The troubles we women have. And what an end to all your waiting, my wee pet.’

‘Oh, Mother!’ Joanna wailed, and dropped the beads to reach out to her. ‘I never thought he was dead!’

‘My poor lassie,’ said Arbella again. She gathered Joanna into a loving embrace, and said over her bent head, ‘And what are you about, Jamesie Meikle, here in Mistress Brownlie’s chamber?’

‘I’m here to watch over her interest,’ he said quietly. Neither his stance nor his expression altered, but it was very clear he would not be moved. Arbella looked at him narrowly, but making no further attempt to discuss the matter she let go of Joanna, patted her hand and turned away to address the guests where they stood waiting for her.

‘It’s a great courtesy, Maister Cunningham, Maister Michael, to come up here to break the word to us. I take it right kindly, sirs. Phemie, have they never been offered a refreshment?’ Phemie’s sharp, defensive reply did not obscure Michael’s stammered answer. He hastily set a backstool for her as she made her way towards them, but she paused and gestured at the door. ‘Will you come into the other chamber and tell me how the man met his end? I hope he was cared for and shriven?’

‘They said they found – they found his corp,’ said Joanna from the bed, and sniffled again. Beatrice put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Jamesie Meikle stood unmoving beside her pillow. ‘Does that mean he’s never buried yet?’

‘I’d sooner we stayed here,’ said Gil firmly. ‘Mistress Brownlie needs to hear it, and I have questions for all of you.’

‘My good-daughter would be best left wi’ her grief,’ Arbella countered.

‘No, Mother,’ said Joanna, composing herself with difficulty. ‘I must hear it. I must hear what’s come to Thomas. I’ll not be easy till I know.’

She may not be very easy once she does know, thought Gil, and then, wryly, But not knowing is always worse. Beside him Alys looked anxiously up at his face.

‘Very well,’ said Arbella, and seated herself. They all sat down likewise, and she studied their faces, turning her head to look from Michael to Gil and back. ‘Tell us, then. What’s come to my grieve? How did he die, and where?’

Michael swallowed hard again.

‘We tracked him,’ he said, ‘to the house of the man he drinks wi’ when he’s in Lanark, and when we came there we found the two of them dead.’

‘Two of them?’ repeated Alys.

‘Humph!’ said Arbella. ‘The man he drinks wi’? Was he no about my business, then?’

‘No at his death, madam.’ Michael glanced at Gil, and went on hesitantly, ‘It’s likely they’ve been dead these five weeks. We’re no certain yet how they died, but it seems as if it was quick, as if they’d barely time to guess what was coming.’

‘So there was none witnessed it?’ said Beatrice Lithgo, seated now by Joanna’s bedside, Bel standing at her shoulder.

‘None witnessed it,’ Gil confirmed.

‘But what took him to this man’s house?’ asked Joanna wonderingly. ‘He was about his round, he had the fees to gather. Why was he drinking in Lanark?’ She turned her numbed gaze on Alys. ‘What did you say earlier, mistress? Just that they’d found a man that might ken where Thomas was gone?’

‘That was all I knew then. This is the first I’ve heard of the two deaths,’ said Alys gently.

Beatrice studied her for a moment, then nodded. ‘And it wasn’t a fight between them two?’ she said to Gil. ‘Was it some sickness? Had they vomited, purged, bled at the mouth? How were they lying? Where were they found?’

‘Beatrice, my dear,’ said Arbella gently, turning to her daughter-in-law, ‘not in front of your lassies.’

‘My lassies are herb-wise already,’ said Beatrice. ‘They have to learn. What can you tell us, sir?’

Arbella considered her briefly, then looked at Michael, who had fallen silent.

‘Aye, sir, what can you tell us? In particular, as my poor daughter says, what took him to this man’s house? In Lanark, is it? Had he fetched the fees from the town afore he was struck down? Lockhart the Provost, four merks for the quarter, and George Wishart two merks and five groats. It should be wi’ his corp, Maister Michael.’

Michael stared at her, taken aback, and turned to Gil.

‘It may be with the rest of the coin,’ Gil suggested. ‘When that comes back from Forth you can find out.’

‘Raffie went to fetch it this morning,’ Beatrice observed.

‘Aye, and he’s no back yet,’ said Phemie tartly from her place by the window.

Michael spread his hands. ‘I’ve no knowledge of the coin, madam, other than what we’ve already told you.’

‘Very well.’ Arbella struck the floor with her stick. ‘Proceed, sir. Tell us what you came to let us know. What were these two doing when they were stricken? Were they at a meal, or an evening’s drinking?’

‘They were abed,’ blurted Michael, going scarlet.

‘Lying quite easy,’ Gil interposed. He felt Alys tense at his side, and wondered what she had detected from his attitude. ‘Whatever came to your man, it was quick. As to your questions,’ he went on, looking at Beatrice, ‘we saw no evidence that they had bled or purged, or suffered in any way.’

‘So he was taken in the night, and quickly,’ said Joanna, as if it gave her some comfort.

‘M’hm,’ said Beatrice.

‘But why was he never found till now?’ demanded Arbella, a crackle in her voice. ‘Did this other fellow’s kin or friends not go near him?’

‘Aye,’ said Phemie. ‘If they were lying in the midst of Lanark town five weeks, you’d think someone would have noticed them afore this.’

Arbella turned her head and glanced sharply at her, the blue eyes bright under the wired peak of her black veil.

‘You put yourself forward too much, Phemie my pet. Just the same she’s right, maisters. How were they not noticed?’

‘Syme – the other fellow – dwelt apart,’ Michael said. ‘Not in Lanark at all. His house is down by the river away from anywhere else.’

‘But what was Thomas doing there?’ asked Joanna. ‘I don’t understand!’

‘We know he drank with Syme,’ said Gil. ‘I assume he’d gone there to see his friend, and they were both struck down at the one time.’

He was aware that Beatrice Lithgo considered him thoughtfully at this statement, without speaking. Beside him, Alys sat alert, watching the faces. He looked round at them all himself. It felt like a game of Tarocco, in which he was not entirely certain how many of the people in the room were in the game or even what cards were in his own hand.

‘Will you come away ben now, maisters?’ said Arbella decisively, preparing to get to her feet. ‘My dear lassie has learned enough for this present, we should leave her alone for a wee space and I need to hear what’s to do next.’

‘No, Mother, that’s my part,’ said Joanna, with another flash of that independence. ‘I’m his wife. His widow, Our Lady protect him,’ she corrected herself, her pretty mouth twisting, and crossed herself. ‘It’s my place to see to his burial.’ She drew a deep breath, and said to Gil, ‘Is there a joiner in Lanark town would coffin him, maister?’

‘Never forget,’ said Jamesie Meikle, breaking a long silence, ‘never forget you’ve friends who’ll support you in that.’

She turned her head to meet his gaze. Gil could not see her expression, for the disordered folds of her headdress, but he saw Jamesie’s face, and thought that for the span of two breaths or three there might as well have been nobody else in the chamber.

‘Someone’s coming,’ said Phemie, staring out of the window. ‘There’s three – no, four horses coming down the track.’

‘This is no hour for visitors,’ said Beatrice decisively. She rose and made for the door. ‘I’ll take them aside, will I, madam?’

‘It’s no visitors,’ reported Phemie, still staring. They could all hear the hoofbeats now. ‘It’s that fool Fleming and three more of your men, Maister Michael.’

‘Fleming?’ repeated Michael in disbelief. He twisted to peer through the wriggling glass panes. Sweet St Giles, thought Gil, and I had the trap near laid. ‘It is, too. St Peter’s bones, what brings him here? He was lying sick, the last I saw of him.’

There was a sudden movement, and a door banged. Gil looked round, to find that Jamesie Meikle had vanished, and the door at the far side of the chamber, its latch not caught, was swinging open again.

‘He must have gone to call out the men,’ said Alys softly in French. ‘I think it wise.’

Gil nodded, and rose to his feet, saying to Arbella, ‘Madam, I think you should receive Fleming in the other chamber, if you receive him at all.’

‘Surely he’s come here as our priest?’ said Joanna. She was recovering rapidly from her swooning-fit, and now got cautiously off the bed and began fumbling at the laces of her gown which Beatrice had loosened to revive her. Bel, still at the bedside, turned to help her. ‘That’s kind in him. I’d be right glad to speak wi’ a priest.’

‘I’m no so certain,’ said Michael, who had risen when Gil did. He bowed briefly to Arbella. ‘I’ll go out and forestall him, madam, if you’ll permit it.’

‘You’re all full of directions to me,’ said Arbella in a caustic tone she had not used before. ‘I’ll order matters in my own house, maisters, and if Sir David has come here wi’ spiritual comfort for us, I’ll receive him in here if I –’

There were raised voices, out on the cobbled area before the door. Michael turned on his heel with an apologetic glance at Arbella, and slipped out of the room. Looking through the glass, Gil saw him emerge from the house to confront Jamesie Meikle and a group of muddy men armed with mells and other implements. He appeared to be reasoning with them.

‘Stay with Joanna,’ he said to Alys in French, and went out to join the argument, passing Beatrice Lithgo who stood quietly in the hall. She smiled thinly at him, but did not speak. As he reached the outer doorway, Michael was saying:

‘I’ll speak to Fleming first, Meikle. He’s my man, he must answer to me.’

‘Then you’d best go up and meet him, for he’ll no get near this door, maister,’ said a brawny man in a smith’s leather apron.

‘What do you fear, Jamesie?’ Gil asked, over a loud chorus of agreement. Meikle glanced at him, and indicated the approaching horsemen. Grey light gleamed on helm and breastplate of all four.

‘He comes up here on foot most times. Why’s he on horseback now, wi’ three of Douglas’s men at his back? And going armed like this?’

‘I agree, but what do you fear? What do you think he wants?’

‘They’re after our Beattie again,’ said the smith.

‘And they’ll no get her,’ said another man, brandishing a reeking stable-fork.

‘It isn’t Mistress Lithgo they’re after, is it?’ said Gil as the horsemen came to a halt at the edge of the cobbled area.

Meikle shot him another glance, and shook his head. ‘No this time.’ He took a tighter grip of the mell in his hand. ‘Maister Michael, if you’re wishing to try and reason wi’ the priest, now’s your chance.’

‘Then who –?’ said Michael. He met Gil’s eye as understanding dawned. ‘St Peter’s bones, the man’s a fool!’

He squared his shoulders and strode forward, slight and commanding. His men looked at him guiltily, still in their saddles, but Sir David dismounted to meet him and ducked in a clumsy bow, touching his helm with a gloved hand.